An Adventure, with Jon Spiro?
by Kalen Bloodstone
Summary: COMPLETE... Series: Escaped from Prison? Not likely! Carla helped? No way in the world would that Witch help another... After Fowl again, when will he stop pursuing that child. - Rated: T, Writer of Artemis F./Inheritance Cycle/Kate Daniels fandoms
1. A Fowl Start

**_Chapter 1_**

**_~ A Fowl Start ~  
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_**Being my first FanFic, I'd deeply appreciate any constructive criticism, opinions, praise, and any other form of speech which can be transferred through a review.

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_**A man sat in a cell, personally his own. The prison was not exactly _Maximum _Security, but it never claimed it _wasn't_. The man was one of the most powerful businessmen in the world, and therefore was surprised at still being in the cell, which stunk of sanitary chemicals.

His Lawyer's should've had him out with-in the day that he was imprisoned, within the hour at the most.

_But they had run into complications_, He thought, starring at the small hole in his orange prison suit. He had been imprisoned under the fact of _stealing _technology at one of his major competitors, and he thought that not even their 100 or so Lawyer's where as good as 7 of his own.

He sighed deeply, the past month had been strenuous as to his normal well being, low quality food, which tasted almost as bad as eating a week old sock, salty and crusted, had made him sick more then once.

_And after the Lawyer's had failed, the Frezetti family must be concerned of what information they might get out of me, it's not like their not suspicious yet,_ he observed. _That's why I'm here after all, if the Frezetti's came here for me at a normal State Prison, then _Here_ wasn't as easy . . . No_, he thought, they wouldn't be as worried about the whole ordeal,_ obviously, or I'd be out by now._

He observed his cell, for about the trillionth time. Everything was white, much like the room he used to retire in at night, but the walls where padded. He wasn't still crazy from the month before, when the Fowl boy had stumped him some how, but his psychiatrist hadn't cleared him as_ not_ insane yet either. A plain, uncomfortable bed in a wire frame rested, with a sunken mattress, against the far wall, the toilet, placed at its footing. Same with the sink, which the lime and rust had sugarcoated obviously long ago. A low desk and chair was where he now sat, with one luxury, a book, obviously not a favorite from its unopened seal. He was bored out of his mind, his mind turning to mush, no challenges for him to face besides which exercise regiment to pick that would least beat him to a pulp. His meal was coming soon, he knew, and he knew today's would be more then unexceptional, _stew_. He heard a rustling outside, and from the door came a rumbling of keys, and entered from their absence from the lock, pressurized release of air, along with a code being entered into a digital pad on the other side of the door. He sighed, so many obstacles he could've easily passed with Pex and Chips who would just have rammed down the door, though at his luck, the door was probably reinforced steel mixed with a bronze layer or two.

The Prison Guard entered, slapped the bowl of _stew_ onto the desk before him, and handed him a porcelain spoon. Most of the utensils where porcelain, besides knives which he never got anyway.

"How's it today, Jon _Grace _Spiro," he said, heavily exaggerated the feminine name in Spiro's name. It had been the talk of the Prison for the month, and Spiro's head wanted to pop.

"Fine," he answered gruffly, he found out the first week not to mess with the Guards.

"Great, just as we hoped."

His com on his vest clicked on, and a slightly animated voice rung through the speaker's.

"Visitor for Jon Spiro, Drew, send him down, standard Guarding crew."

Drew, cracked a smile.

"Seams to be your luck-"

"Don't try the most _comical_ sentence in your bag, _Drew_, hey, a group of my Secretary's are named Drew . . ."

But this didn't faze Drew, the Male Drew that is. The other Drew's, which turns out is only one, is currently celebrating. Feminine Drew had that morning received conformation of the job offer at a Lawyer's firm in New York, her favorite City, and had swiped it like someone might swipe up Immortality, or perhaps pizza.

"Coming down," he said, into his transmitter. Rushed down the elevated floor, flagged by Guards, and preceded by another two, he was led down the corridor of equally grim settings.

. . . Arriving at his destination, he was hurried to a booth, a single phones hung loosely form a slit in the booth, and retrieving it, he slowly raised the phone to his ear, secretly regretting what might come from the other end.

"Spiro," a voice, feminine, snapped form the other end. "What is this?" Carla Frezetti yelled, raising her arms and indicating to the room, and through that room, the booth they currently sat at.

"It was that Fow-"

Carla cut him off.

"I asked what this was, I didn't come here for excuses, do you know how _weird_ for me to be here, I mean, my business," she said, from what he collected she was telling him how much nerve she had, a basically known Mob Leader form Chicago, going directly to him.

He finally sighed, he knew that if he told her, she wouldn't respond, or she might, by heavily walking out of the room, and heavily meaning gun fire.

"Fowl tricked me . . . simple, that's all. An evil mastermind with a feminine name, that's all."

Carla cracked a smile, something she let herself indulge in only once a week.

"Not the only one, as I recall . . . Anyway, where's Loafer's, and the monkey?"

_The message hadn't gotten through._ Jon looked down, someone who used to hold several lives in his hand, to be destroyed or to be given good wealth, was turned into a coward. He raised his head.

"Dead, them both . . ."

Carla's face puckered, two emotions spent in one day, this was really costing her.

"Do you know . . ." she trailed off. "Do you know how helpful Loafer's was, to my workplace," she said, scanning the Guard peering at her from behind his desk, suspiciously.

"It'll take me years to find a replacement for him, and Arno's-" she stopped, noticing what she had just _slightly _confessed. Her eyes flickered to the Guard, and blinked three time - one, two, three . . .

Instantly, an alarm was raised, in the confusion the sprinklers hovering over the pair drizzled an artificial rain, drenching everyone, including Spiro and Frezetti.

Pex came rushing from somewhere, followed by Chips, and together they somehow managed to break the Butler-proof glass paining.

Arno Blunt following in toe, heading a group of Carla's goon's, wielding a mix of firearms.

Spiro got the message, the Guard was one of Carla's men, and she was helping him escape, something very un-Carla like.

Arno rushed towards Spiro, his pointed teeth shining, carrying a bag of clothes. The message didn't need to be spoken, he needed to change. Spiro quickly stripped his Prison suit, and changed into a hand-tailored Armani suit, gray, and slipped his multiple rings onto his fingers.

He stretched his fingers, then cracked his neck, something his chiropractor would've disputed with all the fathom of his compact body. His Prison suit was quickly collected, and Spiro's cousin, the one who he had used as a double to fool the Fowl boy, was rushed in, already wearing a Prison suit. Spiro was led down a side entrance, and passed through the doors of the Federal Prison, ushered into a Hummer. Arno drove, with Pex in the front, Chips sitting right next to Spiro. The Group knew this drill, even if it wasn't in a limousine, and even thou Spiro would never admit it, he was proud of his men, the supposed cut-throats.

Arno's voice drafted through the interior of the spacious vehicle.

"Carla's staying behind, talking to the man opposite her, your cousin," he turned the corner out of the lot, down the main avenue, and continued the briefing. "He will most likely say he's not you, but we've made the surgery permanent in the past month. You haven't been cleared un-insane-"

"Then it would be like I had an attack," Spiro started, the plain, rather simple, unfolding in his mind. So simple, no one would even suspect the theory. "And I'd be in a hysteric state; they would sedate me, bring me for examination, and find me utterly insane, unable to be released to the Lawyers, perfect Arno."

Arno let a smug expression linger its way upon his face. Pex and Chips eyed each-other, a grudge was held between the two, most likely about the seating arrangements, nothing much had changed. The plan was even more complex, per say, for Arno to create, meaning Carla had helped more then he had previously thought, she might even had led the effort instead of being the Queen on the chess board. As he quickly thought this through, he realized the Hummer in front, as well as another behind him, both similar to that of the Hummer he was now driving in, where Carla's men.

"Fowl's done hardly anything besides discover a new antidote to hypothermia. Not much activity at all," announced Arno, knowing that he'd get a pay-raise any day now. He'd get another Tattoo, doubtlessly. He was heading them to the airport, a private Jet awaited them, and after ten minutes of waiting, Carla's 12 group team was reunited with Carla's 8 men vanguard, in all accounting to 20, 23 if you included Arno, Chips and Pex. They scurried to the back of the plane, leaving Carla alone with Spiro.

The only others present at the meeting where Arno, and Carla's Bodyguard, Felix. He stood, covered in a kimono, of a Black background, accented by a blue threaded pattern, a Silenced Jericho 941, or commonly refereed to as Baby Eagle, snuggling neatly in it's holster. Countless knives must have been hidden under the Japanese garb, but Arno couldn't designate any general area, thou he knew where he'd choose. Concussion grenades were doubtlessly hidden upon his body as well. He didn't need any of them thou, he himself had had the same training as Butler, Arno remembered sluggishly, remembering the harsh impact at seeing Butler's ghost.

He had recovered thou, A Ghost couldn't scare Arno Blunt for long, especially when he already had enough Skeleton in his Closet to scare him so already.

"Thanks, Carla" Spiro simply said, graciously nodding his head.

"No need, simple enough. We don't have your fund's, if their accessed, then they'll know," she announced. "You already know this, or where at least pondering the idea."

He simply nodded. "You have hardly any money or favor left in the Frezetti Family. You must now work for the money. I'm going to make you a very gracious offer into my Business." She looked down at her hands, her eyes intent on the creases, more from nervousness then anything else. "Jon, I'm offering you an opening in the Mafia, strictly desk work, nothing dangerous that you wouldn't like." She had laid it out there, the ball was in his court, _as it often was_, she thought.

He seamed to consider it, it would at least be a start to havocing Fowls life. But there was money that he knew would take a long time to earn, even if it was a high desk job. He had made his decision, knowing now that he could do something. Resting his head onto the flights pillow, he took a rough gulp of his dry whiskey, followed by a shot of Vodka which was infused with raspberries. He looked up at his old partner, knowing a whole new branch of his life was unrolling as he spoke, he was to smart not realize it.

"Anything to make Fowl's life miserable, he's going to pay for it all. Yes, Carla, I'll take the job, most-"

"Fine." She snuggled deeper inter he chair, as they flew over the city, on their way home to Chicago.

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I won't be updating for a week, _unless_ I get five reviews- the job is now yours.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	2. A Fowl Year

**Chapter 2**

**_~ A Fowl Year ~  
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~ _**Slight cursing in Italian, viewers warned. Am unsure of actual meanings, found them on the web. ~

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It took Spiro the better part of a year, to find an apartment somewhat close to his usually palace at his office. Most of that year had been used working for the Frezetti Family, and other freelance jobs, helping people with certain problems with world Ambassador's. He had required a hefty sum after his last freelance, and had inquired around for a small haven close to his usual life style. He had snatched it up, needless to say. He sat there now, in his study, two screens facing him. One; a video link to Arno, currently station's outside Fowl Manor, or at least relatively close. The other; represented Felix and Carla, ready for a video chat. He peered at Arno's screen, still wasn't there, and situated himself impatiently in his luxurious snow leopard print armchair, on a swivel base.

Carla, on the other end, was loosing her temper, muttering most likely obscure words in Italian.

"Merda . . . un bastardo** . . . **affanculo."

Spiro winced, he hardly ever resulted to obscurities, knowing you gain very little from them.

"Carla- please stop, you giving me a migraine." He stated, simply. He knew he couldn't force her to, she was too involved in his release to much for him to openly despise her.

Carla huffed, taking a quick swig of the only item she drunk, Kbac Kvas, an imported Russian Soda. The color or molasses, and actually containing the ingredient, it looked similar in color to that of coca-cola.

After the remaining, dead silence, Arno with pointed teeth, appeared, looking them all in their "eyes."

"Something's wrong with them. I just got caught by Butler, he didn't even attack me. And yes, the Butler that died last year at the Bistro. I've seen a tall man in there from the day I came here, 2 months ago. Just thought he was a replacement. He's . . . he's back Spiro, from the grave . . ."

An inside gasp was taking place, but upon his face, Jon was as emotionless as a ponds reflective surface. You knew there was life below the water, but it took a well trained eye to catch movement. Making a comeback, he grinned.

"Arno, do you mean to tell me you scarred of a ghost; you've been seeing things. There's no way he's still alive, and I found that out from you."

"I have seen his sister's movement's, she's become somewhat of a Champion, the Jade Princess, a wrestler," commented Felix. "But nothing of Butler, none at all."

Spiro rubbed his forehead, then brushed his eyes as he took a sip of his Vodka. Something he'd been going through quite a bit. The bottle, maybe with an once left, rested upon the table to his left. He made a mental note to retrieve another bottle form the nearest 7/11 when he had the time. He took in the new information, however faulty it was, he could at least file it away in his brain as a possibility.

"Fowl and . . . his Bodyguard are traveling, to a Swiss Bank-"

"Doubtlessly for stealing," Spiro documented. Arno nodded.

"Correct, his prey is 'The Fairy Thief,' a painting supposedly non-existent at the time. It's been falsified for years; this may be a false lead on Fowl's part." Arno shrugged again, not knowing what else to say. Then, a moment later, because of the awkward pause, struck up the conversation again.

"Do I follow? I need to know soon, as I speak, their packing for the trip. Before his Father makes him attend School . . ."

Spiro plotted the idea. On one hand; if he could foil the Fowl Boy's plot, he's be able to steal the painting instead, and sell it, he honestly doubted Fowl would go on an escapade for a treasured painting unless he knew it was actually there, and wasn't a fake. And through the stealing Spiro knew his man could pull off, have more funding for crushing Fowl's spirit and create a new empire of his own, an even more criminal one then his first success. He smiled at Arno.

"Tail him like a hawk, Arno, don't let him out of your sight for more then five minutes. Prove your paycheck, bring a team, steal the painting from Fowl after he gains it from the vault."

Arno smiled in turn. A question still lingered in his mind, he could tell.

"Arno?" he questioned.

"Felix, would you like to join the hunt? Prove yourself better then a Butler? I'd be lying if I said we have a sure chance without your expertise."

Studying Felix's face, Spiro could see utter distance creep into his calm appearance.

"I will never betray someone in Madam Ko's training, especial if they were a close friend at the Academy," Felix replied, rolling up the sleeve of his kimono, revealing his Blue Diamond tattoo, something Arno would've loved to have on his own shoulder.

Disdain, unvoiced, spread across Arno's face, and he quickly cut the link between them all, he needed to pack up shop . . .

Arno, still fuming, gathered his pack, placing everything in its own compartment in his medium sized duffel. He had washed his clothes recently, and had replaced them in their slots. Sox, boxers, pants, and sleeveless shirt's, all neatly folded and creased. He replaced his current gold studs with a different pair, and making a list of his items. He had all of his guns on his person, with the exception of an AK-47 strapped to his shoulder's. His KA-BAR was strapped to his lower leg, above his boot. He packed his tent and surveillance equipment, and heading to the roads, threw all but his duffel of cloths in the first van, head to the other car, taking shotgun.

The cars driver was a one Alexei Vernov, one of Carla's smugglers and defense contractor. Of medium height, he sat in there waiting for Arno in a trench coat.

He held a phone, talking to someone.

"No, we can't go around the road block, find different directions- Better! Seriously Boris, I may have to stripe your rank. What if I was being trailed by- by, well say a Blue Diamond, what then. I'd be killed, entrapped because of your insolence-" he cupped a hand over the phone. "Arno Blunt, pleased to meet you, ready to beat some Fowl meat together."

Alexei, even thou he had a huge reputation on the fact of his evil independence and not needing anyone help at all, always killed his partner through some sort of joke, prank, or French cuisine.

"So, how dose it feel?"

"How dose what feel?" Arno asked incredulously.

"To have bested a Diamond?" Vernov huffed.

Arno smiled, letting all the praise go straight to his head.

"Alright Boris, call me when the planes fueled, we're already on our way."

He shrugged the phone into his front pocket, cocking a silenced glock in his hand.

"We're going to be on that flight, ahead of Fowl, and his . . . new Bodyguard," he said cautiously.

Arno smiled from under his construction cap, him, Alexei, and his team where packed into two, medium sized moving vans. He slid a knife back into its case, hidden under her plaid shirt. He only could take one item on this festival, so he had chosen a favorite of his, Alexei favoring his glock, which apparently was a family heirloom. Even if it was only a 20 years maximum heirloom. They slid out of the truck, each clothed as construction worker, brightly colored reflective vest over a plaid shirt and blue jeans. In time to see Fowl, and Butler, enter the Swiss Bank. Waiting outside, him and his men completely destroyed the side walk, then when Fowl had came out, had left everything where it was. They all loved to desecrate things, and they never liked repaving in the first place. They left part of the team to gather the surveillance equipment, while Arno and the advance team followed the Fowl boy.

Arriving at a Hotel, they waited in the parking lot. They waited there for about an hour before the other half of the team came, lugging the gear and setting up it up for Anro. They had gained Intel on the Building, two bodies, in different rooms. He was about to head his team out of the van, when to his surprise, the bulkier of the two heat forms, rushed to the other, lugging with it something, and capturing the smaller form, flew out the window. Staggered by this, with-out warn, glass shatter, and a burst of light flew out of the two rooms bleaching the sky with a sharp rainbow, of pure, gel colored green and yellow.

Fixated on the spot, he regained his mind within the minute and rushed his men to the where he had seen them fall to. And in their absence, he found nothing but a mattress.

All he knew was, Spiro wasn't going to like his report . . .

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Sorry, I know I didn't do my best here. You''l like the next one though, it's about nachos . . .

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	3. Cheesy Defeat

**Chapter 3**

**_~ Cheesy Defeat ~_**

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_**~ Thanks to Wolfy and RAHbooks, I figured a few things out which needed a good smoothing over; hope it worked. ~

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Spiro reached into his warm oven, an oven mitt covering his hands, and an apron around his waist. He grabbed the platter of nachos, drizzled with slightly browned cheese, and ground beef bits. Setting them over the oven, Spiro turned on the radio, to find a favorite show of his, a talkshow in the morning, was being removed that very day with-out any notice.

Disgusted, he slap's the radio off, and reaches into the fridge for sour cream and salsa. grabbing the remote, Spiro turned on Regis & Kelly instead, and placed small blobs of the salsa/sour cream mix onto his nachos. Chicago life was treating him well, all to well. Transferring the nachos to a plait, he sits down . . .

All to soon, the nachos were gone, and Spiro still thirsting for cheesy goodness, walks over for the ingredients, and had just transferred them all to the oven, when his pager rung. Looking down, he saw Arno wanted a conference, with all of them. Most likely to share his great news of Fowls defeat. Not one thought ever suggested defeat from Arno.

Devouring them just as fast as the first batch, Spiro sits down, into his chair. Turning on the computers, he turned on the camera, waiting to see Felix or Carla.

But Arno was already waiting for him, a slight sneer of frustration on his face.

"Arno, what's the news, it better be good, you interrupting my nacho time!"

Arno's slightly shifted his sneer downward, not meeting Spiro's eyes.

"He's dead Spiro . . ."

Spiro shifted for a minute, to an upset used-to-be business man, to a giddy child.

"He's dead, perfect, amazing, how interesting. So his fathers taking over the business. Should I wreak havoc on his business?" he asked, but without waiting for a response, went on. "No, not at all. Fowl Senior never did anything to me, nottin' at all- I'll send them an 'I deeply regret your sons absence; he was growing up into a little criminal mastermind.'" He responded. Just then, hearing through the com, Carla and Felix gathered.

"What's wrong with you, Jon?" Frezetti asked, and Arno quickly responded.

"He's high on nachos, and the fact that Fowl Junior just met his demise."

Frezetti smiled, knowing how much the Fowl boy had fazed Jon.

"Good for you, Jon, now that your over your little crush, let's defeat new people . . ."

Not fazed, Spiro went on.

"We MUST celebrate. I'm taking the four of us on a cruise . . . and heck, Carla, bring your son . . ."  
A few emotions passed. First and second; the pressure to protect their charges for Arno and Felix. Third; Carla's son was considered highly confidential, was highly hidden away from the world, and didn't even know of the family business, not to say he didn't know how to run it.

"For now, let's drink." Spiro grabbed his Vodka from under his desk, ready to drink it out of the bottle. Felix reached for his flask, while Carla ushered an agent to get her Kbac Kvas. Arno, being the final person to get his drink, a comical Berghoff's 2 liter of root beer, he had also come to like Chicago.

"To nachos!" cried Spiro, with everyone else hefting their agreement.

"To a new Empire!" yelled Carla.

"To no Butler!" screamed Arno, getting into it to much.

Felix being the last, considering what to announce. He didn't have one shred of love for Arno, and knew actually, in person, of Butler's survival. A smile spread across his face.

"To Arno, the Champion!" he squeaked, hating himself for those words, but in the end it would just set Arno up for even more failure. He knew his friend well, and even with Pex and Chips, combined with Arno, Butler would hardly be winded taking them out. _The old Butler, that is,_ he thought.

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They had just boarded the cruise, a Stewardess confirming for the trillionth time they served nachos. Felix and Arno, searching the deck for any disturbances or threats. Carla, her son Carlos in toe, leading the group. Spiro, or Uncle Jon, was behind them all, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian t-shirt.

"Nachos anyone?" asked Uncle Jon.

Carlos smiled.

"Yes, I want some."

"Finally, someone who shares my enthusiasm." Spiro soughed. "You know Carlos, there was a day when I used to look out of my penthouse, awaiting my morning Eggs Benedict. I could squeeze away a life at-"

"Jon! Stop!" cried out Carla, her son wasn't ready yet of face the horror of the world

"Alright, alright, what I mean is I'm simpler now, my tastes have changed, as well as my speech, personality as a human being, has all changed with-in one year. Want to know why I changed?"

"Why?" Carlos asked, so innocently.

"Well, I'll leave it at a Fowl experience."

"Jon, you're too cheesy for your own good . . ." Carla said, cracking a smile. She was with her son now, and she owned unlimited smiles, as one might own unlimited texts.

The cruise was a month long, including an honorary Bingo package and swimming at leisure was expected. Spiro and the Frezetti pair made a daily schedule. Sleep till 9:30, swim, take a shower and get ready. Eat at around 11, Bingo, then explore the rest of the cruise ship.

It all became a routine, two and a half weeks had passed, and during a game of Bingo, a shipshand came over to Spiro, carrying a telephone on a platter.

"Phone for a one Carla Frezetti?" he called.

Carla sat up, in her bikini, and took the phone, a ridicules hat upon her head.

"Carla- Fowl's back on the radar, a bit blown up it looks like, but that's all."

"Who is this?" she questioned.

"Alexei Vernov, Mrs. Frezetti. Also, your shipment of Kbac Kvas is in."

Carla was drawn between smiling and commissioning herself a teleporter, by Artimes Fowl himself, hopefully.

She was drawn; she herself had softened over the past year, growing her relationship with her son. It was a messy divorce which separated the pair, for over three years. It was simple, three years with dad, three with mom; afterwards, he got the choice on who he wanted to live with, simple really.

Carla knew this would crush Spiro, but she didn't have the heart to tell him.

"Mrs. Frezetti?" Alexei questioned.

Truth be told, Carla had almost forgot he was still on the line, realizing she had frozen, leaving the air dead of silence beside the sound of waves slashing the hulls.

"Ahh- thanks Alex, I'll tell him . . ." She handed the phone, leisurely, back to the shipshand. She could wait another week to tell him, it would only hurt his self-esteem

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"Jon, we've something to talk about . . ." Carla said.

Carlos had just been put to bed the minute before, and within the week, they'd report the cruise ship into Navy Pier.

Spiro merely nodded. He had stopped being as excited, and had almost gotten over his nacho addiction after Carla had thrown a _specially_ made plait of nachos into the ocean. Of course he had cried, but not for long until it resulted in violence, wherein Felix had to stop Spiro from impaling the unfortunate Mother who had gotten too fed up with it all.

"What about?" he said, incredulously, not knowing what was to come and still satisfied with life "as is."

"Something about Fowl-"

"What's there to talk about, he's dead, dead as dead gets Carla. I can start a new life here in Chicago. I love it here, it's changed me so. I meant what I told Carlos weeks ago. Really even-"

"Jon, Fowls alive." She could hardly believe her own reaction at the fact. She was the leader of the mafia, it was to much.

"I know he is . . . so?" replied Spiro.

"I don't think-"

"Carla, we must be talking about different things. Fowl Senior was lost in the Arctic, but his own-" it had finally hit home. He had realized all of it, which in reality was a bit too much. He had been told by Arno about the gruesome death of the Fowl boy, getting thrown out a window.

"How?" one word that was said bitterly, his change was short lived, Carla could tell.

"Not sure yet, Alexei will- well he'll have more information once we've ported tomorrow . . . Will you be okay, Jon?" Carla asked, disbelieving how she actually felt for Spiro. Her Motherly aura must have changed it somehow.

"No! I'm not _OKAY_, Carla." And with that, Jon Grace Spiro walked out of the room.

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Please Review, I hope it wasn't too cheesy, I wanted to insert some humor. I also knew I couldn't have 'Fowl' in every title. Thanks Wolfy for pointing out the grammar in the last chapter.

I changed the views of Jon Spiro and Carla Frezetti, and for that matter Arno's a bit changed, because I didn't want to insult Eoin Colfer with my interpretation of his character's. Hopefully these reason are enough in the story for such a dramatic change in character. I think of it as a life changing through Prison, no ones ever the same afterward, and then the year spent in Chicago, on a smaller budget. Carla's gotten her son back, he's about 8, I think that's a good age for getting your son back. It changes her character into a Motherly role instead of the more famous Kick-ass chick. Arno's getting a bit lazy, he's beaten the famed Butler, a Blue Diamond no less, and doesn't care much for anyone's life, now though I think he can get some defeat. Which was shown slightly at the beginning of this, even if it was slight. And if you're wandering, yes I'm looking for a place to insert the Jade Princess into this Series, masterfully my own. It may take awhile, but I'm on the search

Thanks again to RAHbooks and Wolfy!

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	4. A Piers Welcome

**Chapter 4**

**_~ A Piers Welcome ~_**

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_**~ Thanks again to my reviewers, I'm giving you imaginary cookies . . . What type? is that what you said? Imagine for yourself. ~

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Arriving at Navy Pier, not even glancing at the breath taking sights, Spiro lugged his bag, followed closely by Arno. Felix, Carla, and Carlos, deposited their baggage onto the floor and wheeled it, following Spiro. Carlos wielded a blown up thin plastic hammer, and kept on harassing Felix with it, in his boyhood attitude.

Smiling, he ran up to Spiro, hoping to sneak up on his Uncle.

Instead, Spiro turned around, a fraction of a second before Carlos was to land his blow. Grabbing it, Spiro reached for his knife, and with-out hesitation, cut a hole through the thin plastic. Discarding the hammer, he ran ahead.

Carla was worried; she knew she couldn't let Spiro stay this way.

Carlos, crying, and screaming at his Uncle, came to huddle his face into the folds of his mom's skirt.

"Its fine, Carlos, Uncle Jon's just a bit unreasonable this week, okay . . ."

She recollected the past half week upon the vacation cruse, the fun she and her son had had, bonded even more then she though, or even prepared herself to accept. She never knew the human nature to be so- trusting, that's the word, exactly the word.

"Be my brave Hero?" she inquired. Carlos merely nodded. Carla knew she had to have a talk with Spiro when they arrived back at his apartment. She remembered Spiro taking more of an interest in physical training, with Arno, who obviously bested him. Whether it was for his own defense, or to gain another benefits from it, he was being taught Israeli martial arts, one of the most advanced. She smiled slightly to that fact, there was another skill she could add to her mental list of things she bested him at. She had found in Alexei Vernov a good leader; he easily picked up where Loafer's left off, and excelled at Loafer's weak spots, mainly being he wasn't considered small.

For now though, Carla just had to get out of Navy Pier without getting mugged, armed with the sense's of a Mafia Leader, she sneakily walked through the crowds, Felix and Carlos a mere shadow to her instant movement.

* * *

"You had no right there, Jon, your too mean for my child anymore!"

She had been arguing with Jon, for the past half hour.

"I had no right- don't even get me started here Carla. I don't need any-"

"We're peers, Jon, I see us as equals, no need to feel threatened, but when you threaten_ me_. No, not even me, my _child_, Spiro . . ."

It was at that moment that Jon and Carla realized something, since they started their professional couriers, they always called each other by first name.

"Jon, just don't do it again, he's my child, I know how to treat him!" with that, Carla Frezetti, Mafia Lord, stormed out on a used-to-be national, powerful Businessman named Jon Grace Spiro.

* * *

Carla awoke that morning, Carlos at her side, staring at her. Normally, when Carlos woke up, he'd jump all over her, waking her up, hungry for breakfast. But today, he just sat there.

"Mum, am I in trouble?" he took after his father, a British Officer, his ruffled black hair was flattened on one side. He wore his cowboy pajamas, his face a stern mold.

"No, of course not, it's just best to- to not antagonize- Uncle Jon."

"I think I did wrong, Mum, I think Felix would agree most heavily."

"Son, you need not worry yourself about this, this is my fault, I should've seen this."

_Butler must still be alive, especially if Fowl's still alive,_ Carla thought._ WE need a better plan then breaking and entering._

"Alright," Carlos smiled. So simple, his thoughts.

"Right, let's get you some food. My Hero, 12X12?"

"144?"

"Right . . . 12X13?"

Stumped, he looked to the floor.

"I'm talking to Mrs. Luna. Right, go," Carla smiled. After pouring his rice crispies, and delivering him at the bus stop, Carla headed for a jog.

. . . In her office, Carla received an e-mail, from Arno, indicating another meeting was to take place that evening, at 1:30 p.m. Jon didn't even have the gut's to talk to her again.

_Fine, let him stay a coward behind Arno Blunt, famed for _killing_ Butler. _

Reaching for her sub, Carla pondered planes that she could present at the meeting.

That morning, Spiro had devoured an entire bag of tortillas, a brick of cheese, a half a tub of sour cream, and a god jar full of salsa. You guessed it, he was on nachos again. His radio show had been replaced with a new one, life going on with-out pause. Spiro had been pondering the fight, knowing that it shouldn't faze him in the least. His enemy was Artemis Fowl, not Carla Frezetti.

She'd become more then a friend, he'd been invited to thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, they were practically family.

He shook his head, and deciding to do something, he called the still pride hurt Arno Blunt. Telling him to arrange a meeting for them. Deciding on a plan of action, or at least a guideline, Spiro went out for a jog. Returning with a sub, he eat it with such wrath, he almost pit off his own tongue. Realizing it was time for their conferencing, Spiro took a nice shot of Vodka, and turning to face his computer screens, he waited, for any sign of movement. A minute later, Arno came into screen, red-faced. Not mentioning anything, he waited glumly for Felix and Carla. And once they appeared, their conference started.

. . . "As simple as that?" asked Arno and Felix at the same time.

"The only thing to remember here-"

"Is I came up with the idea," broke in Carla, her eyes daring anyone to disagree.

"Fine, I'll call Vlad Vulkov tomorrow, he's not cheep, it'll take half a year at least for you two guys to earn the money. Start finding some really good jobs . . ."

With that, the conference ended.

* * *

"Jenny, bring me my tea!" demanded a voice, thick with a Russian accent and a dry sound to boot.

"Yes, V, one minute." Jenny, his secretary for over 12 hours, a record, replied, making her way down to the kitchen.

His phone rang, and without Jen to answer it, Vlad picked up his phone, squinting at the Caller ID. The voice hit him before he could read, so furthermore, he sat back into his chair.

"Vlad, doing well?"

"Fine, just fine. What's the call for, Carla, you don't call without reason?"

"In the near future, I will have a contract for you, be ready to accept with-out hesitation."

"Do I ever, Carla?"

"Well- no, still though, be ready . . ."

"You've given me a good laugh, Carla. Okay, I'll be ready. Near future?"

But with that, Carla had disconnected the phone.

Jen came scrambling up the hall, a tin tea kettle and cup, laying them on his table.

"Honey? Sugar?" she questioned.

"No, none at all Jenny. Well, nicely brewed," he said, a moment after taking his first sip.

"Where did you come from? Who did you work for?"

"Well- I worked for Taso for awhile, that's about it?" she was confused.

Vlad clapped, then sipped his tea happily, his mother made tea just like it, and it reminded him of his homeland.

Arno, Spiro Carla, and Felix where gathered in an airport, saying their goodbyes.

Arno; was heading out as a Mercenary, a Chopper gunner.

And Spiro was leading to help an Ambassador with her gardening, being a personal adviser was very bountiful and resourceful.

They shuffled, not wanting to talk to each other.

Finally, Arno spoke up, the soldier he was knew it was a terrible way to start a job late.

"Goodbye, everyone, meet back soon." He shined his new pair of teeth. Normally, people like Arno wouldn't do what he was doing now, gaining money for someone other then himself, but he had a score to settle with Butler.

"Bye Carla, see you in 6 months . . ." and with that silent, uneventful goodbye, Spiro entered Carla's jet.

* * *

Please Review, how did you like the mean-again Jon, was it expected from the previous chapter?

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	5. An evening Tale

**Chapter 5**

**_~ An evening Tale ~_**

**_

* * *

_**

_**Jon Grace Spiro:**_

The next few months went by in a flash of poetry competitions, soil turning, and accompanying Ambassador Driak along with her Counseling with the next country over. And before Jon knew it, three months had passed, leaving very little time for himself or communicating with Arno, even if this was possible with Arno being in the field.

A hefty sum had just been wired to an account of his, registered under his alias for Chicago, which hadn't been used for years, Professor Adrian Drassky. A Russian nuclear scientist really had no reason to be an adviser to an Ambassador, but Jon didn't have the cash or resources to create another with a rock solid alibi.

As of now, Spiro sat in on a council, finding out very little, but still earning his pay.

Ambassador Katrina Driak, headed the conversation, leaving very little room for questioning, something she was well known for. Harsh, brief, and clever, where the three words to describe her most.

Well known for slaying personally each and every member in a gang who had kidnapped her husband, who used to be the Ambassador.

She wore a thick green skirt and shirt, a fur vest protecting her shoulders from the harsh cold of the nearby sea, which collected the coldest winds and shot them exactly to the country.

Jon wore closely the same; the only difference where the thick pants he now wore.

"It has come to my attention-" _and so on and so on_, thought Spiro, tired of how the Council always started. Day dreaming, Spiro danced away in some part of his mind . . .

A threatening force came in contact, and before Spiro knew it, he was brought back to reality to the sound of Katrina's yelling.

"Adrian, advise!" she yelled, steadying he grip on her cane.

"Sorry, you lost me, where are we?" Spiro answered coyly.

The meeting went on, the question was if she needed more hounds to be trained to become bomb sniffer's. Seeing great results from the handler, Adrian, or Jon, consented . . .

_**Carla Frezetti:**_

Carla had just dropped off her son at the Schools bus stop, had ran to the nearest McDonalds for an Icecoffee, the building was a mere ten feet away. Exiting, the chilled hazelnut infused beverage in hand, Carla headed for a taxi, telling him to take her to a Tattoo parlor.

. . . Once she had paid her fair, Carla walked the short distance to the door, opening it with swiftness, she entered.

There he stood, Klea Bloodstone, her personal tattoo artist. He stood, quite short by anyone's standards, barely clearing four feet. But in those four feet was entrapped such ferocity, that even Arno would have a hard time dealing with the little devil. This was the exact reason she never took Felix to the parlor.

Klea had impish features, Carla noted, for maybe the hundredth time.

His green eyes shone impishly, hidden mischief and even more . . . unmentionable things. His current customer was just finished, and had quickly paid her due and left.

"Carla, great to see ya'," he announced, shrugging off his towel which he used to wipe away excess ink. Sorry, it was a rag, he only used them as towels.

"Hey, K, I need a tattoo."

"Obviously, what would you like, Mrs. Frezetti?" as you can tell, "K" gets away with a lot for the only reason of his amazing tattooing skills.

"Something to represent my son . . . eight."

Klea thought for a minute, then with a bright look in his eyes, proposed the tattoo.

. . . Three hours latter: Covering the exposed area, with his own cream, Klea cleaned his tools of the trade, ready for the next customer.

Carla, curious on how it really turned out, walked over to the mirror, happy with the result. A ball cap, with "C+C" engraved onto it. First; the color of the cap was red, Carlos's favorite color. And second; a ravens outstretched wings spread under the letter's, in full glory. Still admiring the work, Carla left the tattoo parlor, while Klea made a mental note to perform the ritual very soon, his artistry was getting out of order, and his only way to survive in the land of the Mud Man was to fit in . . . At least he was able to convince Carla on a simpler tattoo then she normally chose.

_**Felix:**_

Felix hated waiting, and today was like no other, waiting in Carla's office, ready to move and help her mafia at the slightest suggestion. And with Arno gone, there was no one to antagonize, no one he would actually have to work on in order to defeat them, and Felix thirsted to spar with him like one of their morning sparring duels.

Felix sighed, nothing much for him to do. Fed up with it all, Felix walked to Carla's gun cabinet, and reaches for an armful of the submachine guns. Cleaning them in the way only masters could, he easily had finished that batch, and still bored, he reached for another load, and another, and another . . .

. . . Three hours later, finally, Carla entered.

Without waiting for her to tell him where she had been, Felix jumped on her, metaphorically.

"I just got a new tattoo, not much, okay, just chill out Felix. I can protect myself as well." She shrugged it all off.

_**Arno Blunt:**_

Arno dropped to the ground, bullet's whizzing past, over his head, as Arno regained footing, he spotted the two man sniper team shooting at him. With a swift hand, he loaded his own sniper rifle, a Bor, or known as an Alex, freshly made from Poland. Taking them both within the minute, only grazed by their fire, Arno ran back to his Chopper.

His men had been ambushed, by five other Choppers. With death at hand, the 2nd pilot committed suicide, the cruel truth was men did this often, knowing it was a simpler, less painful death, then slowly burning down to earth. The first; had successful landed the Chopper, and the ten, cramped men aboard quickly ran to the trees for cover.

Now, all of the Chopper's where shot out of the sky, and only 3 other men survived from the ambush arranged on the ground.

Dazed from a concussion grenade, and a migraine starting to add its effects, Arno turned to their Chopper. Searching, Arno found four rough blankets, food rations to last them a day, and an RPG.

"Collect all weapons and ammo, collect all the rings and dog tags, and check the pocket's for any personal items." Arno was surprised at the voice which seamed to have just emerged from his mouth. The coldblooded killer had a heart after all.

All weapons and ammo gathered, including the 3 remaining men's thrown into the spot, the rations and blankets gathered, Arno started out spreading the items equally. Luck was on his side with the blankets, one for each, but their food would only last them four days. They had left with a days supply to feed 12 men, cutting that practically ¾'s way down; they had more days on which to have food.

Each was given a blanket, their ration which they were responsible for, two pistols, a submachine gun, and for him a sniper, and for another of his men the RPG and its remaining ammo. Ammo was something that was heavy, and took up space, bringing enough but not all, Arno discarded the rest, along with the guns no longer needed, and giving his dead men a moment of silence and the a silently spoke prayer.

Arno hefted his items along with three rings and eight dog tags, an heirloom Butane Lighter which would come in handy, and a photograph of one of his men's daughter's. Disgusted at his failure as the Squad Commander, Arno felt around the bag, taking out his Recon beacon.

"Let's stack the men in the forest over here," suggested one of Arno's men.

Consenting with a nod, Arno helped them drag them to a pile, and leaving the beacon under the stack of bloodied bodies, he turned his head towards the horizon, his photographic memory reminding him of everything he had seen on his way in, the enemy camps and such. Deep behind enemy lines, Arno set out with his men, he had failed almost all of his men, and the rest he couldn't, wouldn't let die, not after eight already added to the sheet . . .

* * *

Hoped you like the chapter. Originally it was going to be the reunion at the Airport, but then Wolfy said it was going to fast, and not in as much detail. So, this is the result, a great awesome cliffy, well kinda, with Arno there.

Post a review, if not for me, for Adrian Drassky and the gang; they need a boost in their moral until they meet up again.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	6. The Not So Great Escape

**Chapter 6**

**_The Not So Great Escape/A Christmas Evening . . ._**

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* * *

_**~ Merry Christmas to one and All! ~

* * *

Deep in the forest, Arno gazed up to the sun, judging the time of day, and his current heading. The past three days had gone by in a haze of fear of being found, narrow escapes, and avoiding enemy patrols and camps.

Finding a way out was harder then Arno had suspected, he thought he'd be able to stroll into a camp, grab the nearest Chopper and skedaddle the Hell out. Surprisingly, their Chopper's where as secured as the Pentagon, and looking for a link broke in the system would take time, which they didn't have. No one even had enough spare energy to grumble about the rations, the size and the taste.

Directing his men to climb the trees, he silently chose one himself and climbed up one. Finding the perfect place to hide for an ambush was a talent that not many possessed, which was why this wasn't an exactly by-the-book move. But the currently unquenchable hunger well overpowered the book. The current place they now hid upon was a road was traveled on, but not as much as most of the Intelligence posts suspected. Maybe a Squad every 2 hours, if that, so for now, they hid.

Arno's plan was this: ambush a squad, gain their uniforms and guns, take their vehicles to the closest camp, and with handkerchiefs covering their face, grab a Chopper or transport, whichever was quicker, and escape with a huge boom. Waiting in heist, and relatively aware, Arno's mind started to wander, wondering how his friends where doing . . .

_**Professor Adrian Drasski/Jon Spiro:**_

Gardening with Katrina was a hefty task, she usually did all the grunt work, but her Garden was immense in size, and on top of that, it was on top of a building. The cold, harsh wind, which could've been block by the surrounding buildings, striked at ease, at its own pleasure.

Hefting a bag of mulch, Katrina pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, swiping away the sweat and smearing around the dirt which encrusted her face. It was a prized Garden, and Professor Adrian Drasski knew it was her pride and joy.

Ambassador Katrina had no Children, and despite their Great Dane named Poppi, had no other companion besides her Husband to occupy her time.

Gazing across the Garden, its ground was being fertilized for the next year, and the salvageable plants being brought in, Adrian sighed a huge sigh, which thankfully didn't penetrate Katrina's busy mind.

She could've hired men and woman to do what she was now doing, but instead, obviously, she spent a good hour or more on it each day. Until today, the last day for her plants for the winter season came quick in her lands, Katrina had a daily schedule, or plan of what to do. Water them, weed them, look for insects endangering the plants, and then a precautionary spray, each and every day, including Sunday. Thankfully, Adrian had Sunday's off, even if he still stayed at the Ambassador's Manson.

The Hounds had been delivered, and a demonstration had taken place, at which the Garden did not blow up. That didn't mean Katrina wasn't mad at them for planting it there without her permission. It took advisory from Adrian to deceive her from calling the Police.

The stunt, however was still documented and a non-pursuing file had been filed by Katrina.

Looking over his shoulder, Adrian noted for the millionth time Katrina's brilliant golden lock- shaking off the feeling, Adrian returned to his work, fertilizing for the year to come.

. . . A few months later, night had come, and right after a bigger feast then usual, Adrian was given a box, wrapped in a simple white and red striped pattern. He was startled, and after inquiring upon the nature of the gift, was given the response that: "It's Christmas, you Grinch, haven't you ever gotten a present."

Nodding his Head, Adrian unwrapped the parcel, to find a beautiful pair of Scarab cufflinks.

"Why- ahh, thanks, Katrina, most nice of you. I unfortunately-"

"No need, Adrian, I could tell you weren't the type. Just in the future, think on events and Holidays with great contemplation, and realize the values in them. Of course theirs the Family, and close friends. But Also, it is a day that is greatly cherished- Christmas that is. It was the day that Christ was born, the Savior. It was greatly prophesized, and yet through the years, it's unfortunately gained the status of all gifts-giving day. Think on this not lightly, but religiously. I found this out the Hard way, don't ask how, it's Classified . . ."

A smile spread across her face, into a grin that Adrian had come to realize as her "I'm joking with you," and yet, Adrian knew the full extent of her words.

Not a year had gone by since Adrian had pondered his last family Christmas, some 20 years previous.

. . . The Sky shone, night had fallen, and yet it was still bright out, the glare blinded any why dared . . . A smell of peppermint and nutmeg, filled my nostrils . . . I heard the clock chime . . . The sound of thousands of angels, and Celine Dion's voice, singing O Holy Night . . . The Radio, blared to extinction for which reason Jon never found out . . .

Snapping Himself out of his last experience, Spiro, Jon Grace Spiro, wished to talk yet once more to his Mother, a strict willowy woman who always had a great recipe for Chili Con Carne.

Mushing his memory into the taste which still lingered in the depths of his mind, vanquishing out all other recipes including chili, noodles, and cheese, he smiled.

"I see you do know what I speak, and not just shout?" Katrina muttered, inaudible to everyone else.

Once the dinner had ended, in a flourish of fine musical instruments and humming from the less talented vocal people present, Adrian headed to his room. Afraid of the dancing pears that would soon dance in his head, Adrian hated pears almost as much as Fowl.

Or was it sugarplums . . .

_**Carla Frezetti: **_

That morning, Carla had received a shipment of submachineguns, and upon opening the crate and-_ disposing _the dealer; Carla took each gun for a test ride.

She had organized with Felix a raid, upon a warehouse.

She had shown her son her newest Tattoo, and even taught him how to clean a gun. Knowing one day he might takeover the business, him being just nine years old, Carla knew she couldn't cuddle him much longer. After the raid on the warehouse, Carla had instructed her men to quickly sell them, and had already arranged a meet and greet with an old . . . Friend.

. . . Vlad Vulkov towered his men, standing comfortable with an old German Lugar in hand, he was easily over six feet. He wore a trench coat, and a red tactical vest under it, with brown trousers hugging his legs warm, not a crease in sight. He ushered over a man, using his eyes as a combat tool, the color of ice chips they where, and his defiant features accented the "Want me dead, try yourself," attitude he had perfected over the years.

"Most gracious, Carla, I just was looking for a seller. You've saved me a considerable amount of trouble. Where did you acquire them?" A greedy smile spread his unshaved face.

"We'll leave it at Felix got them, alright?" she replied in a hesitant tone, knowing it was an absurd question.

"Never the less, Thank you. Hey, when is that contract coming?"

"Any day now, Vlad, Any day . . ."

_**Felix:**_

Stretching his wary muscles, Felix received the last present of the season, from his wife, a Caribbean Queen. Dark accented skin stretched her amble frame, covered with freckles. Her hair, long black coils of mysterious intent, hid her ere's, the only unfreckled part of her body. Her smile, a wide lemon of light, was always seen upon her beautiful face, and today of all days, she didn't disappoint.

Unwrapping the box, wrapped in a design unrememberable the next day, Felix let a smile creep onto his tired, wary face. A flask, something he could use with Carla never being their, in the Office.

"Thanks Dove, I ever mention how much I love you?"

"Most every day, thankfully. You know Don-"

"Please, Dove, leave it at that."

. . . Arriving at the office, making sure his report on the gun raid the month before was filed correctly for Carla, he drew a short breath in, and then out again. Grabbing the sack he had hid, he turned around the office, decorating the halls and walls for the festive season.

_**Arno:**_

That night, in the mess hall, Arno agreed profusely with his remaining two men, on their astounding journey the month before. The ambush was executed in perfect fashion, hardly any cries of terror or crying. They arrived at the nearest base, and one of the remanding three at the time, got trapped, his hand incased in a RPG case. Trapped, and nowhere else to go, he self destructed the bomb, moments from Salvation.

They flew back to basecamp, sad and reverencing the time for them all, and none of them wanted to remember the last fleeting minutes of theirs friends lives.

Arno, had been foretold the story to the Company Commander, over the com which needed a bit of tweaking to signal basecamp. After the briefing, Arno was given the honor of being called a Hero.

And here he now sat, reminiscing the great ordeal he had just succumbed, a mug of beer and a bowl of pretzels, and of course their deck of cards, made the rest of the celebration go smoothly.

. . . He woke the next morning to the sound of singing, and realizing how close it came to that day, Arno reached under his mattress, bringing out a bag of Chrome Lighter's, with his unit's number. Sad at the amount of Lighter's he'd have left over, Arno reached into the bag, and retrieving two, he walked to the mess hall, where he knew he'd find them.

Finding them their, indulging in the savory gravy and biscuits and sausage which was the Holiday's morning meal, Arno handed them each one, smiling.

"Thanks, Cappy, to bad the rest aren't here . . ."

"Yeah, man, thanks a ton. We'll miss ya man, it'll be different taking order's from someone else."

"I'm sure they'll send you each to a new unit, instead of reconstructing a new one," Arno commented, and turning to the Breakfast Line, retrieved his Holiday meal, savory something he used to despise so much it would've been thrown across the room in a huff.

Walking back, he slowly lowered into the seat, and began a rushed conversation which would be one of his last in this field of work . . .

* * *

Review for the nice side of Arno Blunt . . .

If your interested in the Inheritance Cycle, by Christopher Paolini, then you'll find "Admiration of Redemption" a good series to check up on every onw and then. Ever wonder why the Elves crossed the Sea? Ever wonder what led them from their homeland? Well, find out in "Admiration of Redemption," where the history of the Elves is revealed.

Chapters updates for this series will be every other Monday in the afternoon.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~

* * *

~ Christmas Present ~

* * *

1. Know at least where your story is heading, even if the details are uncertain.

2. Read as many books as you can. This will help "Expand your Horizon," and will help you more creatively write out scenes which contain situation's that you may not be familiar with.

3. Write at least a paragraph every day, and hey, in a month you'll have good sized chapter, even if you didn't have more then a max of five minutes a day to write. Remember to make sure the paragraphs are intertwining, not just related.

4. Find something that inspires you, Music, Scenery, Books etc. This will help you amazingly when you have Writer's Block, something we all experiences._  
_

5. Have fun with what you write, don't just write because people reviewed and said they like it. If you don't like what your writing about, it doesn't expand you're ability to write any more then talking to someone who is totally unassociated with books.

6. If you have a relative who writes or has an interest in it, ask them about it. Grandma's are the best, but if you have an Uncle novelist, and you yourself are a male; it may be easier to comprehend your Uncles advice. For the females, it may be easier to comprehend an Aunt . . .


	7. A Fowl Incident

**Chapter 7**

**_~ A Fowl Incident ~_**

**_

* * *

_**~ Read the notes after the chapter to discover the newest addition to my profile. ~

* * *

Departing from Ambassador Katrina was harder then Spiro suspected, and it became harder when she sent him off with a present, actually two, it's just that one was eaten.

The first, was a cute German Shepard, a pup, yet fully trained and obedient. Something mostly mythical to all pet owners, defiantly a myth. The second gift was one of her prized petunias. The dog ate them hardly an hour into the flight. Because of the plane being owned by Carla, Spiro was able to let the dog stay with him instead of going into the pet carrier section of the plane.

In the rest of the six hour flight found out that he_ must_ name the dog as soon as possible, and he wanted it to be something more then just Skipper or Spots, or even Blackie. And the only other thing Spiro knew about the dog was its loud bark, cute eyes pleading for biscuits, and it's wild nature. It had ripped up three of the chairs, puddled twice, and had pounced on the Stewardess about a million times. If this was a _fully_ trained dog, Spiro wanted to see the receipt. Though its cute eyes shown, and Spiro melted. It was a female, and she at least calmed down a bit here and there. Finally it came to him, she was to be named Lily of the Furry, Lil for short. In a truly heart warming moment, Lily walked up Spiro, seated in a seat, and barked at him, for nearly a minute, and then hopped into his lap, and rested the rest of the way to Chicago. Shedemon.

Petting her the while back, Spiro thought what it would be like, the reunion. Would she bring Carlos, would he be armed with a stereotypical tommygun and wear a black suit and fedora, or would he just have another blow-up hammer?

It was less great then that, he was dressed in playgear, pants and black T, with a collector's edition Harry Potter jacket, his eyes locked onto his DS screen.

"He hasn't looked at me for a day." Commented Carla, who had arrived in a tracksuit, a pistol strapped over her ankle, hidden by the cuff of her sweatpants. Felix shadowed her, he never really liked Spiro, and wasn't even meeting Spiro's eyes, a cause of suspicion. Waving the thought away, he knew Carla trusted him, and that was enough for him.

"Shall we dine at Berghoffs?" came a voice from behind, and turning around, Spiro was surprised at Arno's appearance.

Arno wore a normal pare of false teeth, instead of his usual pointed jaws. He had lost weight, no doubt about it. Overall, he just looked different.

Not needing to add his voice to the cries of _yes_, Spiro quickly ran to the car, it hadn't been that long since he'd had the German food, and yet it was the stuff of which haunts dreams.

. . . Arriving and sitting at one of the dark, wooden tables, Spiro looked around the room, to make sure he wasn't in a dream. The line should've been proof enough, and yet he wasn't satisfied. The dark, oiled wooden panels covered everything besides the floor, which was checkered with red and tan. The stools and chairs, red leather, and then the low, hanging lamps which shone through painted glass, with some plant, lining the window sill. Most of all was the noise, the most notable indeed.

Ordering their famed creamed spinach, Arno quickly listed his events, his usual routine, his best achievements, and finally the five days spent M.I.A.

Spiro expressed his boring six months, telling them about the garden and about Lil, who he had just remembered loved to eat seats, and was currently in the car, on a parking garages fifth floor. Excusing himself, he left the table, with a request that once they'd finished to have his food boxed. As by some miracle, Lil did not eat a single thing, Spiro decided to stay with the dog anyway, and slid into sleep, Lil resting her head on his leg.

The next morning, Spiro was brought back to reality, no more sleeping till 10 and then helping with the gardening. No, here it was up by 8 to take care of Lil. Who still wasn't progressing, in the one day of her presence at the condo.

Getting her chow, which he had bought the night before, Jon placed it down on the ground for, then running the water, filled a bowl, resting it right by its twin.

He was worried about he low supplies for the dog he had, and thought it slightly irresponsible of Katrina. And that day, devoted it all for shopping and asking for advice. Bringing the dog with him was the first mistake, with all of the crowds. He scheduled a conference, with Arno and Carla.

Getting home, he sat in his chair, Lil on his lap. Powering up the computer, he reached for his Vodka. Carla's image materialized.

"Alright, back to business, Vlad will join us shortly, he's booked up right now, at some huge epidemic. But, he sent in his secretary, which normally wouldn't say more then slap to the face. But he trusts this one, Jen, apparently she brews tea like his mother or something. She's to arrange and execute everything besides the siege on Fowl Manor. She'll arrange the teams, shifts for security, recon, Intel. Vlad does everything. Which does explain how much he costs."

A woman, mid twenties, dressed in a faded jacket, a black t underneath, and frayed blue-jeans entered the screen, her deep eyes beautiful yet inelegant. Her hair, black, was held in a pixie cut, a slime line for a mouth and a nose that showed little else.

"Alright, from my clipboard," she raised on to the screen, "You want to invade Fowl Manor within the week?"

"Correct," Arno replied, almost simultaneously with Spiro.

"Alright, well, Mr. Vulkov will be out of his- predicament in two days. Meanwhile, I'll transport out crew, of 15 assassins. More then efficient with Fowl, even with Butler. Number's never lie, Mr. Spiro." With a smile spreading her slime lips, it almost looked like a stick figures smile, wide and lemon shaped.

"Fine," he snapped, then reached to his own clipboard. "This is what I'm planning; raid, kill Butler, kill Fowl, get out, all within 10 minutes. His parents are leaving soon, our informants tell me, we can raid anytime of the week. Without anyone to take out along the side, such as Fowl Senior or Angiline Fowl."

"Fine, be ready with your own crew, if you don't think were sufficient."

"Its not that-"

"With all respect, Mr. Spiro, shove it. I know what I'm doing. Before me, his secretaries lasted only 10 hours. That's a lot of interviews, don't even mention the liabilities. I know what Vlad does for a living, he's told me everything, I know his secrets like you would read a book, if you read books-"

"But I-"

"No you don't, leave it all to me, I'll have my team ready for Vlad to rush into Fowl Manor, rush out, and back on his jet to San Francisco for vacation. Now, if you excuse me . . ." and with that, the deviant Jen left the screen, everyone focusing onto Carla's smile, which was quickly replace with an actors version of disbelief.

"Well, she's spoken?" Carla.

"I'd agree . . ." replied Spiro, fuming, Lil waking up on his lips, licking the Vodka out of his glass.

Arriving at Fowl Manor, Vlad Vulkov, Jen in foot, he exited the vehicle. Reaching for a glock, he handed it to Jen, and reaching for his own gun, the Jericho 941, silenced, he readied his men. Lining them into three formations, along with ten of Carla's men.

Arno, Spiro, and Felix wielded similar weapons. Carla didn't want or need to come, she was at the Mafia headquarters', taking care of Lil.

The Garage was closed, lights on, and music could be heard from outside.

Signaling for advance, Vlad led his men, in a S.W.A.T team style. Busting the door, and throwing in tear gas, everyone stormed in, masks on, guns raised, concussion grenades a moments away from being thrown. But no one was inside. They searched each room, the wine cellar, the kitchen, no one. No Butler, no Fowl.

Dumbfounded, silent and angry, Spiro sped outside, reached for the car driver, and stormed to the car. Instantly having the driver step on the breaks, all of it without word . . .

The week later, on the TV, Spiro saw the News announcer, and African-American lady, long black hair and green eyes, the Headline stated; "A Fowl Incident."

Spiro looking on the screen, herd every word she announced.

"The Fowl family greaves today, as one of their own, Artemis Fowl, is declared missing. He was last seen boarding a flight to Hong Kong. If anyone has information concerning Artemis Fowl, please contact the police. There is a reward."

Then following the departure of the woman, a screen came up, showing a picture of Fowl, and underneath was his description.

A slight smile spread his face. Even though he had wanted to kill Fowl this time, he was happy nevertheless.

The next year, sitting on the same spot, Lil now full grown and respectful, a true lady, was trained and sat at her loving owner's feet. Same station, same prod caster, only with the Anchor spot.

"All the way from Ireland, we bring a devastating story, cornering the lost Artemis Fowl, a teenager who will be 16 today. The court has passed his death bill, he is now, officially dead. This was a drastic and hard blow to both the scientific world and the health world. Artemis was currently signing a contract with Harvard to create a new procedure for pancreatic cancer, which would've been a big innovation. Artemis Fowl will be greatly missed. But our best regards to the Fowl family, who've been gifted with two beautiful twins."

And with that, Spiro turned of the TV, ready for an early nap.

* * *

Now you've read, all that's left it to review, even if it's not to suggest things. Just something saying I have reader's.

Notice: Like the Inheritance Cycle? Well, I've just published "Admiration of Redemption," the baseline of the Series is how and why the Elves decided to travel across the Sea. Main character Prince Tãlan, who leads the event that started it all.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~_  
_


	8. Fowl Manor

**Chapter 8**

**_~ Fowl Manor ~_**

**_

* * *

_**~ Here's something to satisfy your bookworm. ~

* * *

**Fowl Manor . . .**

Arriving back from Limbo, Artemis found that he had been gone for nearly 3 years. Wherein Caballine had married Foaly, Minerva had been awarded with multiple awards with Artemis no longer an adversary, and had also been shocked to find out he now had siblings, Beckett and Myles. His Parents where gifting him with a Welcome Home party.

They had invited all the dignitaries of Ireland and close friends, as well as some musicians, movie stars, doctors and scientists of Artemis's life. The event was planned for the following day, but Angeline Fowl and Artemis Senior wouldn't let things happen last minute, and Artemis had spent the day tasting cakes and picking the Symphony for his party.

Butler, his trusty man-servant, had been re-employed by the Fowl family, and had taken the liberty of updating the Security system.

Pacing the floor, in his study, Artemis wondered what he wanted to catch up on. There was a wide spread of new Human technology that Artemis himself could've patented when he was 12, if he thought it beneficial, right after he had captured Holly.

It still scarred Artemis, he had captured his best and only friend besides Butler. It was barbaric of him. Then a thought hit Artemis's mind, he needed to perform the ritual.

He had been experimenting with the magic and his pools where empty. Deciding on visiting the Tree where he had kidnapped Holly, Fowl exited through a side door, heading to his Helicopter.

Switching on the propeller's, Fowl went through his regular testing, and coming up with the details, decided he was fit to fly, more then enough gas, he was swept away, covering the Irish countryside.

. . . Arriving, Artemis set down his Helicopter, the spinning wind flattened the surrounding long stocks of grass. He was surprised; he was looking at a one man welcoming comity, or rather a one Elf comity.

* * *

**Irish Countryside/Tent . . .**

Klea Bloodstone, famous tattooist and fairy, huddled into his jacket. Ireland's frosty nights weren't worse then Chicago's, but they were worst then Haven City, and Klea thought he'd never get used to the constant winds and rain. He knew he was standing on History, Holly Short had been kidnapped here, and Klea was there to meet up with her capturer, Artemis Fowl. He had just been summoned back from Limbo, and Klea knew he had to make haste to travel far. He couldn't walk up to Fowl in plain daylight, and rumor was Artemis was now filled to the brim with Fairy magic, something Klea would confirm. No one ever stayed full to the brim with magic, they used it all within the month.

Klea had made a trip just like this one, just over 3 years ago, only thinking it was a good idea to talk to Artemis in plain daylight. He had arrived in time to see Spiro and his team storm the Manor, and thought that Artemis was dead earlier then anyone else. Klea thought he was killed by his favorite client's friend. It turned out not, so here Klea stayed, under his hood, scolding himself for being so stupid.

_Maybe he doesn't have magic, and even if he did, what would lead him to this tree, _Klea thought. He was getting discouraged, he had been camped there for just under a week, and no one besides a Sprite had visited him.

He had just resolved to back up his shabby, now patched with duck tape tent, when he heard a rumbling noise.

_There is again_, Klea thought, and turning his head, caught sight of a Helicopter. Now who else do you know that would stop a Helicopter in the middle of Ireland's countryside, was the first question that popped into his head.

* * *

**Irish Countryside/outside of Tent . . .**

"So now you know why I've been sent . . ." Klea muttered.

"Who are you again?" asked Artemis, the unknowing character for once.

"Klea Bloodstone, Fairy, and tattooist to Carla Frezetti. A sponsor of Jon Spiro."

A lump formed in Artemis's throat, he knew this day would come eventually. Spiro had promised it. The only thing he didn't expect was for it to happen so fast. He knew the next night would be crucial for a number of reasons.

How the world would take his story, how they would respond to his reappearance. He had personally invited Minerva, and hoped to delay her to stay and explain the actual story.

"How long has Jon Spiro been planning this all?"

"Honestly, Artemis, you've missed death by a hairs breath ever since the Opal Incident four years ago. At the Swiss Vault, and again right after you left to Limbo. He's been a minute behind you the whole time. I doubt he's figured out already, but if he has, I just wanted to give you a heads up."

Artemis smiled, he knew Fairies and just people in general.

"What do you want, Klea, in all honesty?"

"A minute, with Holly."

Artemis was perturbed by this, and wasn't sure if he should view it as a threat or as a random, "Can I see the Celebrity" moment.

"Purely business, I want to join the LEP." Continued Klea.

Artemis thought for a moment, then decided he had come to a decision.

"I'll ask her, but it's entirely up to here . . . Now if you excuse me . . ." and with that, Artemis jumped into his Helicopter, to bury the acorn he had collected at the tree and plot his defense system .

* * *

**Chicago, Dojo . . .**

Jon spat, randomly, not caring where it landed. He had spent the early morning with Carla, jogging, and had then ventured to the Dojo, to meet up with Felix for their afternoon spar. He had been followed by Carla, who wanted to see his improvement. It was his morning routine, and had been for the past year.

He knew of Fowls survival, in a quick dispatch over the Morse code system in Ireland. An old contact was the informer. Jon had given up hope of being the one to kill Fowl the previous year, and had taken the time to improve himself, physical and mentally, not to mention the money.

Ducking a kick the head, badly executed, Felix came forward, balancing on his left foot, and delivered a textbook uppercut. His right leg in the air, he looked like a trophy model, dressed in his Kimono, the one he had worn that very day when they had broken out Jon.

Delivering a harsh comeback, which consisted of a jab to the ribs and a low placed kick to the calf, twisting his body, Jon came up short of finishing his attack. He knew the comments would come a moment before they exited Carla's mouth, and had already turned her way waiting for them.

A mistake.

In almost a cartooned fashion, Felix grabbed Jon by the waist, twirled once for style, and deposited Spiro on his back, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

"Alright, evaluation; not ready. Stance, imperfect, as well as the balance, one must feel at ease when in his stance," started Carla. But she got no further, she was interrupted.

"I'd like to see you try . . . Carla, I challenge you to a spar," announced Spiro too quickly, he'd quickly regret the decision.

"I accept," she replied, cheerfully, jumping up from her bench and heading to the locker rooms. Returning in a karate suit, Carla dropped into her warm-up routine, aiming for her hand, which leveled out to her chest. Then she jumped up, and drawing collies from the rack behind her, she tossed them to Spiro.

"Give you an advantage." She replied to the questioning look he directed at her.

Bowing low, they sparred off each other, their hands coming together in the honorary gesture of respect.

Then, the next moment, Carla was on him, her hands clenched into bear claws, swiftly heading for his ears. It took the collies to block the sift advance, but right afterwards, she was yet again throwing another move, this time a chop to aimed at his side.

Jon had to spend all his energy on defense, while Carla chuckled madly and was the offense. After blocking an overhead strike from one of Jon's collies, Carla took the opportunity to focus one good, solid punch, straight to his gut.

Throwing him to the ground, spitting fire, Carla drew herself up, composure calm and overall, un-Carlaish.

"Surrend-" Jon was able to get out, before he collapsed again.

Surrender.

What else was there for him to do after that? Grab her knee and gnaw on it?

Just then, Carlos Frezetti, heir to the Mafia throne of the Frezetti Empire, walked in.

His eyes, closely mirrored that of his mother's, and he held himself with the same sureness, confidence, that one would mistake him for a sixteen to seventeen years old, when he himself was only just thirteen. His fingers, those of a pianists, where wrapped around a cool class of Iced Tea. He deposited it quickly on the table nearest his mother, and went back to reading a letter, held firmly in his other hand. His hand, the one not holding the letter, nervously tapped his black trousers.

He had chosen, the year or so previous, to live the rest of his life, beside a week every other month, with his Mother. He had learned of the family business, and became an understudy to Arno.

Arno, had moved on almost instantly after the failed siege and announcement of Fowls death. The news of his survival had not yet reached his ears, and Arno had made no move to call them. Arno had made a business, a security detail, who hired themselves out to clients who held many . . . Interesting events.

Felix, who had just disconnected the phone, had been talking to his wife. She had reminded him to pick up the diapers and formula for the child. They had recently been gifted with one, and Felix's mother had traveled from her house in London to support his wife, as well as to help with their first child.

Carlos's fingers drummed a beat, and a few quick glances where directed his way.

"What's it about?" Carla asked, suspicion, half capped, boiling, dripped from her voice.

"Well . . ." he started nervously. "Well, you know that talent show I entered last month, the one I won first place in the piano category?"

"Of course," his mother instantly replied, the Oracle of all things her-son.

"Well they've sent me a letter, they want me to play the piano at a party, Artemis Fowls party, and it doesn't feel right . . ."

A silence descended upon the room, only the clinking of ice in Carla's tea, from the slight shaking of her hands.

"Well?" Spiro finally questioned.

"Well I don't know if I should accept it, that's what! Artemis, despite your enemy, is a famed pianist, I shall have you know!" Carlos spewed, lava, or at least that much heat of enthusiasm. "I can't just say I'm coming, can I?"

"Honestly, _figlio_, do what you wish. I can't demand you to spy on him for us, head where your heart leads."

"No, don't do that, Carlos," started Spiro, a plan half-hatched in his mind. "Spy on Fowl for us, that's a boy, ah . . ."

Carla, started at the outburst, "I shall not let him spy, it's apparently a great achievement, and I want him to indulge within it. The flavor of the Irish country on his tongue, the culture. The people, Jon!" she was heading to a heart attack, with the amount of enthusiasm she entered into that one sentence.

She saw the falters in his eyes, and knew she had won over Uncle Jon.

"I'll tell you what, I'll arrange the Jet, have it fueled and manned, and have Lilith pack your clothes. You, young sir, all you have to do, is go down to the firing range. Bring me a five out of five achievement, alright?"

He wasn't exactly happy about the fact, but fueled with what was soon to come, Carlos practically flew himself to the Firing range.

"I must attend to my Lil," announced Spiro, who had just gotten over the initial shock of missing such an amazing opportunity.

"Fine." Muttered Carla, watching him leave.

* * *

Carlos will soon be performing at Fowl Manor? Interesting no, Review for the sake of his young intellect ad honor, and so he has moral support performing in front of so many people. Especially from RAHbooks and Wolfy.

Hope this wasn't fast paced, I've been so anxious for this moment. This was the moment I was hoping to start on chapter 6, and was discouraged upon the idea.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	9. The Valkyrie of the Opera, pt 1

**Chapter 9**

**_~ The Valkyrie of the Opera, part one ~_**

**_

* * *

_**

So, here is the long (week) awaited series update; will Carlos stammer and loose his cool in front of Artemis, will he forget the piece of music he is to preform? find out in part one and two of "The Valkyrie of the Opera."

* * *

_The Valkyrie of the Opera, part one_

Arriving in a white tuxedo, flagged by his bodyguard Val, Carlos stormed to the door, ready to show off his talent.

Lady Val, as she liked to be called, was short for The Valkyrie, her title as well as reputation in her line of business. She would take on a Butler any day and give them a good challenge, if not for her problems with authority, she'd have been a Blue Diamond years ago. She actually favored old fashion weapons, a spear would do fine in her grasp, and would terrorize the enemy to no avail.

She stood tall, reaching just over six feet in her authoritative manor. Blond hair, fair skinned, and pale blue eyes showed her ancestry to be a cross of Icelandic and Welsh. She wore all white, as well; a flowing white cami which was diamond cut at the bottom, with threads dangling downward, bearing black beads, as well as pale rhinestones set centimeters higher. Flare style trousers, close to that of which you'd see on some Rock star from the 70's, the multiple layer verity which had the reflective material often mistaken for glitter. White stiletto heels, which looked incredibly painful to wear. Pale blue topaz set into sterling silver, dropped down in teardrop fashion from her ears, and a pale blue topaz dragon pendant rested right past her throat, complementing her eyes.

Rings, multiple rings, yet again pale blue topaz, covered her fingers, and sliver bracelets, of the sterling verity, were cast upon her writs with the grace of a goddess. Great for backhanding people, she often told people.

The weaponry upon her person was less then hopeful, but in the hands of a trained Killer, a plastic spoon would be harmful. Two ash, long, blunted sticks were inserted into her hair, keeping the blond curls up in one of those wacky duos that was half new age, and half old age. And only one throwing knife secured to her person, sewed into a secret compartment in her trousers.

Her features, sharp enough to cut you, stood out along with her muscular arms which weren't even trying to hide away, for the cami had no sleeves.

Her legs where long and looked like an athletes, nimble and powerful, ready to run a mile dash in five minutes. She hardly wore any make-up, yet today for maybe the fourth time of the year; she had applied it in the car. Eyeliner, blush, and a pale rose colored lipstick.

Carlos, was towered by her, his skin; slightly less pale, and eyes the color of his mother, emerald. His white tuxedo framed his body well, only one other boy of his age had worn it with such ease, and he was about to meet him. Brightly polished leather shoes, no sneakers here, adorned his feet, already size nine, a height of five feet and six inches; Carlos was an impressive specimen to all the ladies. His eyes had the certain gleam in them, that mysterious aura that made them go wild. His hair, coal black, shaggy and menacing; if hair could be menacing that is. He had been raised later then Artemis to rule a Criminal Empire, but that did not mean he was not sufficient enough to know the ins and outs of a scheme. He was practically drilled by Arno Blunt, over the years, and knew how to handle himself, something Artemis entrusted to Butler.

They were quite alike, them both, Artemis and Carlos. Both of them would inherit or already had inherited an Empire, both were masterful musicians, and both knew how to handle their bodyguards when needed. The only difference was Carlos was not a mastermind, he was smart, no doubt, but he didn't have that ability that kept Artemis ticking when he was finding and exploring the Fairy world. And Artemis didn't know combat, so even though they were quite alike, there were those minuscule things that changed the two.

"May we enter?" Carlos asked Val, his personal bodyguard and the slightest friend.

"I suppose," she said in her thick accent, which sounded like she exaggerated _I_ and pronounced suppose as _suppouse _with a thick trailing of the word.

"I doubt any traps on such a- friendly, occasion." Her eyes instantly alert, she wormed her way to his side instead of following in his footsteps, her protective aura which Carlos had been able to identify quite some time ago now arose, and on the night went . . .

* * *

Artemis, was held up in his Study. His nerves were on end, and if you had snuck up on him and jumped out and yelled "Boo!" he'd flinch and spaz out. He didn't know how everyone would react, and he wasn't sure if he could provide such a wide _mesmer_ as he hoped. The crowd would be wide and infested with a few reporters, as well as those people who would tell the press, and then doubtlessly the undercover reporter of a no-name magazine pretending to be a waiter.

Then there would be half a dozen security threats, not to mention most of them would arrive with their own guard. But Artemis had added some Fairy technology to help Butler's update on the system even more helpful . . . Not to even mention the laser's he'd installed to help with any stray pigeons, gods know how politicians and actors love their cars.

Artemis paced, his computers providing the only light within the room, which was immense, with as many computers he had anyway. The carpet, a miracle from an Indonesian Market, had not yet threadbared itself despite the many times he walked across it, day in and day out. He heard pounding coming from the Hallway, and seconds later, Butler walked in.

"Carlos is coming, new report from a friend of mine from the FBI. Guy by the name of Don, good source, the best."

"Carlos who, may I ask?" Artemis questioned/

"Carlos Frezetti, Carla's son, heir to the Frezetti Empire? They employed Mulch?"

Realization dawned Artemis's face, he didn't see Carla as family person.

"I shall be down within the hour, I must dress," he said, already wearing his finest Armani and best pair of shoes.

Butler had grown accustomed to his charge, and therefore knew he'd think on the subject for half an hour, finish his herbal tea, and be ready within forty minutes. Stepping outside, he called to his Sister, Juliet.

She washed in, literally looking like a wave in all her fabric. She looked like a duchess from folklore, the only change was the ring in her hair.

"It's ridicules he made me wear this, it's absolutely terrible, and it doesn't breath-"

"Worry about that on your own time, Juliet; announce Artemis's arrival to be in forty minutes."

"Fine . . . Brother, but you owe me for this," she said, waving her hands around her dress and hair in a dramatic manner.

* * *

Sliding down the banister, Artemis, dressed in the same shoes and suit, came down to meet the guests. This part of the Manor was almost uninhabited at the moment, but would soon be filled with the quests, with a crave for Lobster Bisque and a whole other 8 courses of the dinner.

The carpet, mainly red with black, yellow, and green mixed in, adorned the floor, and suits of armor lined the first floors walls. The ceiling of this section of the Manor, which was definitely more then two stories, looked like a dome. It was the lined with golden plaster, and a wide blood red pain spreads the ceiling, gold mixed in decrypting several different patterns that turned into each other.

Tables were filled with crystal goblets, china plaits, and silverware.  
Silverware arranged in the traditional fashion, Artemis felt slightly overwhelmed with the immense number of chairs. Minerva would arrive any minute, and Artemis was slightly assured by this, she'd be able to hold back a few scientists with her intellect.

Artemis, arrived in the Living room, where everyone was politely mingling. Almost instantly, everyone stopped silent, a look between sadness and admiration in their eyes . . . one boy clapped, and the spell broke.

Suddenly, the room filled with the ring of clapping, and the symphony played one of his favorite pieces. Artemis eyes met the boy who first clapped; he was met with emerald, framed by shaggy black hair. He wore a white tuxedo, and his attitude was unflustered, with the backup of a tall, elegant Lady, who looked like she had just emerged from a portal from three different dimensions.

Smiling quaintly to them, Artemis took the seat of honor, a razed podium which was close to the Symphony seats. They where a small one, but one could not expect the 100 or more musicians with all their instruments to pack in. Two pianos, one occupied, the other not so much. Artemis had just remembered why. It was the seat for a pianist who was randomly chosen by his Parents. He had a vague feeling he knew who they had chosen.

Artemis just stood there, for a whole of about three seconds, then was mobbed down and was talked to the rest of the time which remained till dinner.

He was hesitant to talk to them, at first, but as people kept on coming, the more he realized they wouldn't ask him were he'd been.

That realization was soon broken when a snooty actress by the name Elva McKenry asked him. She wanted to know so she could get in depth with her character, Angeline Fowl, for the remake of "Death of a Visionary" now to be renamed "Ireland's Child." Artemis was sad for the outcome of the movie, it would trash his Mother's reputation.

And then it happened; Carlos was in front of him, materialized from the crowd, along with the intimidating Lady. Butler had long before been at Artemis's side, and now gazed and assessed her, finding a match for him was next to impossible- and yet.

"Good evening," started Artemis, his voice covering a neutral tone.

"Good day, Master Fowl. I am _the_ Valkyrie." Val announced, rather dramatically.

"And I am _the_ Butler, may I escort you and your attitude to the door?" chimed Butler.

"No, no need Butler," Artemis said, before this Valkyrie person could start something. The last thing he needed was a riot at his party.

A small smile of pride spread her face, it read _cute_,_ just cute_. This was one step in the wrong direction, so Artemis stepped over that line and went another foot.

"If I may apologize for my-"

"Butler," she interrupted, "No need, you may call me Val, if you so wish."

"And who might you be?" Artemis directing the question to Carlos.

"Car-ls." Carlos squeaked from the back of his throat, stomach churning. Artemis was so much more . . . human then had been described; by his Mother as well as his Uncle. It had sounded like Artemis was some sort of Monster, old cracked skin and villainous cape, and maybe even a deformed head to accompany his large Intellect and ego, but no, he was completely human. It came hard, the words, in front of someone who was no longer someone great, but now also human. "Carlos." There it was, his name, now Artemis knew his name.

"Carlos, do you have a surname? Unlike, the a- Valkyrie, who has a title and needs no surname." Artemis questioned, wondering if he' would be truthful.

"Frezetti, Sir," there it was, Sir and honesty in the same sentence, Artemis could get used to this kid, only a year at most younger then himself.

"May we meet again, later tonight, both of you . . ." they nodded their acceptance and parted ways.

* * *

Was it satisfactory? Was it to little, was it not what you expected? This can only mean you will be jittery, on the edge of hysterics every moment of the week until that day when part two will be released in the US.

The premier of "Emi" is now on my site.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	10. The Valkyrie of the Opera, pt 2

**Chapter 10**

**_~ The Valkyrie of the Opera, part two ~_**

**_

* * *

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~ Happy Valentines Day! Check out my others stories for this sweet day listed after the update. ~

* * *

Dinner was more then exceptional, it was magnificent. Minerva, dressed in a layered, shiny coffee colored dress, form fitted to show off her curves. Golden wristwatch covered her right hand, and her class ring on her other hand showed off her intelligence. Her golden curls, were still curls, but they were styled into a short fringe. A dainty golden chain held a broach of which reminded her of her mother, and she had looked at it the whole time she was delayed by turbulence. She usually piloted, but had given the honor to a steward, she didn't need to gain more stress. The anticipation had already built up, and she couldn't wait to find out what had happened to her friend of a whole day.

She had also come to talk in depth with Butler, but had decided it fit to supply witty banter enough for the two of them, herself and Artemis, and within seconds of starting their Lobster Bisque, they were again battling minds.

There was a toast, of which Artemis laid some good _mesmer_ on the crowd, telling them he felt he needed to air his mind out and live like a simple woodsmen, _a hermit, if you will_, were his exact words. Thank god Minerva and Butler had on their glasses; otherwise it would've taken Artemis another week to explain all of their ventures once more. Juliet had not yet recovered from her mindwipe, and Artemis wasn't sure yet if he should bring her up to date.

The nine courses swirled around Artemis's head, mutton was one, a fresh green salad was another, and they even had a pasta dish.

Violinists sat at intervals, spewing magical music into the depths of the people. Each had a second person with them, to help them and give them the time to rest their fingers or some sort, they would switch off every two pieces. The melody of the music enhanced the taste and the atmosphere, something the Fowls were worried about. Artemis I, dressed in a tweed blazer with a black undershirt and gray dress pants, prosthetic leg was acting up slightly, but no doubt it was from the warmth in the room. Blazer's where simple and tasteful, and he'd liked them for quite some time.

Butler, had lowered the A/C multiple times, but there were just too many people.

_I'm glad I am no longer claustrophobic_, thought Artemis, _as tonight would be my demise,_ no longer reigned by the rooms and spaces within the Manor.

On the other hand, Angeline Fowl was having a blast; she'd consumed more then her daily amount of alcohol; we'll leave it at that. She wore a stunning ao dai, a Vietnamese garment; half tunic and half dress. She wanted to seem formal as well as a flirt, and her hair was down in their auburn curls, as was her usual formal hairstyle. The ao dai, was plain, crisp white, with dark green embroideries on the shoulder's, at the waist, and at the bottom of the ao dai.

The candlesticks burned with intensity; to please their Master's and shed light to the world, was their only mission, and they preformed it well. The time would come soon, very soon, when Carlos would play his piece. He had been secretive of it the entire night, and even though he had not told anyone else at the Manor, he had told his bodyguard; this Lady Val, didn't seem to deem it important enough to tell the young Mastermind.  
She was definitely an odd sort, and from Butlers contacts came a file to go with the name. Apparently she was wanted in a few states, praised in a handful of others, and named Queen of an African Tribe. A long sheet gave Artemis her credentials, and Artemis thought that in another world, she'd be perfect for Butler; who had become slightly depressed with the whole look fifteen years older then I really am thing.

The night went on, in a festival of whimsical delight; there was witty banter as well as talking, an amazing menu, and to top it all, Artemis was hardly three fourths short on magic. He had thought he'd need a lot more magic then he possessed, but in the end it all came down towhat _they_ wanted to hear. Sometimes one just wanted to believe something rather then blot out the past three years; sometimes.

And so the time came, for Carlos to play his piece; Artemis gathered Minerva and himself on the podium, followed by Butler.

He started with magnificent bravado, pitch perfect; and then suddenly changed to a smooth, underlining classic tone. That was where the violin joined his party, and was soon followed by an intimidated flute player. Then after a trumpet solo, a clash of symbols and a beat on the drum marked the end of the musical masterpieces; or so you thought. The piano was up again in full swing, accompanied by the flute and violin, with a newly admitted chello which seemed strange in the mix of rushed music, as the chello was a calming instrument; interesting.

The whole piece was over within minutes, and a wave of clapping filled the whole Manor. Carlos, grinning at the unveiling of his first orchestra piece, with enthusiasm one only gets through an applauding crowd, he went into another magnificent piece. His fingers dancing across the keys, a smile dawned his face, and together with the musicians he ran through the pieces with talent normally found within a trained Yale professor.

Artemis wanted to talk to Minerva, it was time she stopped giving him that inquisitive look, but Artemis didn't need the speculation that might follow if only him and Minerva left the room. He wanted to answer her questions, he truly did, it just wasn't the time.

* * *

Carlos had finished, and half of the crowd had left, as the clock in the Living room struck eleven o'clock. Artemis was in a heated debate with a Scientist who thought he had solved one of Artemis's formulas. He hadn't, and Artemis outshined the man with huge words and simple solutions.

People now were mingling on their own accord, no longer bent up on talking to Artemis and speaking to other people within their Profession. The dreaded time came, when Artemis was to speak to the Press.

His nerves racking, Artemis walked onto the platform, four cameras instantly were shoved into his face, half a dozen mics, a few voice recorders, and an iPad woman with a Word document open. He started with a general, neutral explanation which they all could share, then talked to them one at a time. He answered an assortment of question, ranging from "What's you next project?" to "And how is your girlfriend taking all of this?" Which sadly, he had answered with one of his prized stares. His main tactic was to use as many huge words as he knew to keep everything vague, yet it seemed like he was telling you his life story. It had worked before.

Almost an hour later, the questions had not stopped, and Artemis had gotten tired of it all.

"Good night, everyone." With a sigh, the Press exited the Manor, tired and without as much information as they had planned to gain. They'd just have to mix words together to form a logical explanation.

Artemis approached Carlos, who was shrouded by a group of admirers, a young Artemis indeed.

"Carlos," he spoke the name slightly raised, as to get his attention, yet not to seem mad.

"Artemis?" Carlos's _sentence _was laced with an inquisitive nature.

"Well done, an amazing start to your career. I complement you."

Carlos chest swelled with pride, and he fought back a gasp at the praise taken none too lightly from Artemis. The eyes which lingered on the back of his skull, Artemis knew, where that of Lady Val, who had just returned from the powder room. And turning around, he saw Butler engage in conversation with her.

S_tay calm_, Artemis told himself,_ Butler won't do anything _too_ stupid._

He was correct, Butler wasn't sure what Artemis had in mind to talk with this Carlos person, and had decided it may be private. He'd detain Val while Artemis had his chat, whether private or public, she'd stand right her next to him for the next five minutes, more then enough time for Artemis Fowl II to work his magic.

"Can we talk?" voice layered with a thin line of _mesmer._

"Of course," piped up Carlos, following Artemis to his study.

Up the banister they went, Artemis and Carlos, and not even Butler would stop _The_ Valkyrie from loosing her charge. Fast as a whip, Val stopped her civil conversation with Butler about the faults of full auto pistols, and ran to her charge, passing the distance within seconds.

Butler chased after her, he wasn't sure what she was doing; he hadn't seen Artemis move. Thank the gods everyone was conversing with themselves, or they'd been a big crowd watching the whole spectacle.

Minerva, however had, and remembering the blueprints of Fowl Manor which she had stolen, she skipped to a less used staircase, which led to the second floor. Actually, it was not just the most direct route, it was also the fastest way there, and she prided herself and her memory once more.

Face to face with Artemis, tailed by Carlos, she pointed one elegant finger behind Artemis. Turning around, Artemis, his face recently clear of emotion, now filled, spoke.

"Stop . . ." his voice layered with magic, it did not only force Minerva to stand dead still, but it turned Valkyrie into a convulsing Frost giant. Val tried to get out of the _mesmer_, and like Butler, veins bulged on her forehead, her willpower, giving her the strength to walk forward, through a sea of honey.

"Stop!" Artemis demanded, once more. And yet, Val kept walking, _unlike_ Butler.

By now, Butler had reached the top of the staircase, and running forward, wrestled Val to the ground. Val's mind numbed, under the _mesmer_, still gave Butler a rough challenge with all of her kicking and wild punches.

Carlos, through all of this, felt shocked; he had been simply following Artemis and wasn't sure why his Bodyguard was being so protective. He knew Artemis was an enemy of Spiro's, but didn't see it harmful to be there.

"Val, what's wrong?" asked Carlos, inching away from Artemis and to his Bodyguard.

"Their kidnapping you!" she screamed.

"I may assure you I-" Artemis started, but was soon interrupted.

"We were only going to talk, Val. Stand down . . ."

With a heavy sigh, Val relaxed; the situation defused, Butler stood back up, brushing himself off.

"May I get up to?" she asked, getting tired of the ludicrous moment.

"Yes," replied Carlos.

A determined, protective, very protective Val walked passed Artemis and Carlos, to the Study.

"In; all of you . . ." and for some reason, they all followed, including Minerva. "What you talk about with Carlos, you can talk about with me . . ."

"Butler- ah, sit this one out, please, old friend." Artemis asked his bodyguard, who's jaw dropped down in a comical moment.

"I . . . I-"

"Oh come now, Butler, I'm not going to assassinate Artemis, according to him this is a civil conversation."

Nodding his head, Artemis sat in his round desk chair, while Minerva to an armchair, and Val and Carlos a seat on the couch.

"Once before, I sat in your positioning; an aspiring child with ideas and musical talent. Confused, slightly. My father, at the moment, was lost in the Arctic, and I was left to rule an Empire, a criminal Empire . . ."

After moment of silence, Artemis was forced to continue.

"You see, Carlos, we are much alike. Our parents, mine left me an Empire when I was twelve, and yours; she's leading you to a start in your Empire at thirteen . . . Carla will be asking you questions about this evening once you arrive home. You can't tell her something."

"What?" asked Carlos, slightly surprised by the turn of events. He wasn't sure if he could fight his way out of Fowl Manor if needed, even with _the_ Valkyrie at his side.

"About this little chat of ours."

"What?" confused more then ever, Carlos sat up from his slouching posture.

"You, Carlos, are my understudy. And you, Lady Val, are my witness." Voice yet again laced with the _mesmer,_ Artemis spoke the last sentence as his whole plan unfurled in his mind.

"You will go home to your mother, tell her you've gained my confidence, and let Spiro get close to me; then, and only then, are you to contact me through this nifty device," said Artemis handing over a device; which could've just been called a ring. Of simple silver, the ring was surprisingly light; an emerald stone was set into the ring, with silver leafing covering it which was designed to look like a music note.

"If she asks where it's from, tell her it was a consolation prize . . ."

"How does it work?" asked Carlos, after admiring the ring and its lightness; and nursing the surprise which entered his list of emotions once more when the ring fit his index finger perfectly.

* * *

Currently under revision, my pen name. It most likely will be Kalen Bloodstone, but at the moment I'm unsure. Though the pen name will change, you should still get the e-mail, just don't get freaked out when it's a different name. Series names will be the same. Sorry if this didn't meet your expectations, I proofread it but I'm super mind-dead after writing the stories this week, so I probably missed some things. Point em' out to me if you find them, thanks!

Written this Valentines Day by Aiden Fletcher;

Artemis Fowl, A Valentines Day Special, Brazil: A Valentines Day special mini-series, Minerva/Artemis shipping. ~ Rated: T, for shipping ~

Kate Daniels, Julie, a Goth's Valentine: One-shot: The premiere of my Kate Daniels work; the title pretty much sums it up. ~ Rated: T, for slight adult themes and language ~

Misc Books, Musings: Poetry . . . My minds work at a new task; let me explain. I'm a Writer, not a Poet; yet this is a trick I need to teach myself, it's worth a look at the very least. ~ Rated: K+ ~ Addition titled "Carefree."

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	11. The Meeting

**Chapter 11**

**_The Meeting_**

**_

* * *

_**

Arriving at about eight o'clock in the morning at Chicago's O'Hare Airport from Dublin Airways, Carlos was received, bleary eyed, by his mother. Carlos never slept well on planes; the altitude was not his friend and he always closed his window shutters at take-off.

Green faced from their flight, Carlos clutched at the only thing which would take him out of the sudden panic which clutched his heart in a cold embrace; Mr. Sniffles.

Mr. Sniffles, by trait, was a care bear. Well, not exactly a care bear as much as a technically advanced teddy bear/taser/mobile phone and about a half dozen other toys; even a climate controlled food compartment.

Mr. Sniffles, with all of his gear, was still the most comforting item which Carlos possessed.

"You forgot him," Carla sympathized. She knew her son would be frantic without the animal and was glad that she had thought to refill Dr. Snithe's prescription.

Carlos nodded frustratedly, nervously, as he looked around himself fleetingly; he knew how rare it was to still have stuffed animals at his age. Walking to the car, almost a jog, Carlos hurriedly entered the blacked-out limousine.

Walking slowly to the car, Carla, clad in a woolen sweater-vest of gray wool and sweatpants, let the slowness of the dead environment take her in. She gazed at the Main terminal, the other Jet's and two/single engine planes in their personally owned hangars, and the gray sky which had not yet spread with the golden rays of light so natural to Chicago.

Her hair flapped in the wind, capped under a berate. She breathed in the cool morning air. All was right in the world- her son was home.

In the limo, Carla cradled Carlos's head as he drifted off to sleep; her motherly nature bare to all to see.

Carlos awoke, Mr. Sniffles held in a death grip. The teenager had slept through the day; currently being eight o'clock- though at night.

Climbing out of his bed, Carlos looked drowsily around himself- then suddenly remembered Fowl's instructions.

He sighed; he didn't want to betray his Uncle- what Uncle. _I hate Jon Grace Spiro_. Now Carlos felt better about himself. Hunger and curiosity of the household led him to the Kitchen.

"How was it," his Mother greeted him from the stove. Carla was a Chef by most anyone's standards, and she had been attempting new recipes of late. Though for their dinner that night, Carla made Carlos's favorite dish.

Salmon grilled over apple wood, fettuccine alfredo, littered with shrimp, as a side dish, and croissants. Carla was frying the shrimp with cooking sherry as Carlos stepped in.

"It went great," started Carlos enthusiastically. "Artemis complemented me!"

"Good for you, _figlio,_" said his mother, with true pride in her voice.

"I guess." Instantly, Carlos's mood had changed. "I mean, it wasn't like it was my dream or anything."

"Why so glum all of the sudden? A moment ago, you were boasting of his complement." Puzzled, Carla stopped at her task. The Shrimp sizzled in the pan. After being boiled, they had been marinated in Carla's specialty spices.

"I don't know."

Carla starred at her son. Something had changed; what was it- his _eyes._ They were irritated. Carla lifted her hand and rested her hand to check Carlos's temperature. Normal- slightly high, but nothing out of the ordinary.

She looked into his irises, checked his pulse- anything a concerned mother did, Carla did twice.

"Did you get into a fight?" she questioned irritably.

"No," Carlos mumbled. "Nothing happened."

"Obviously something had to happen for . . . this to happen," she said, waving her hand in a dramatic gesture around his head.

"Nothings wrong," he objected. "I'm off to the firing range- you can send someone with my meal once it's finished."

Two things; the smell and the arrogance. Her shrimp had burned, and her son, her _figlio,_ had stomped out of the room.

_He's not getting this meal,_ she thought to herself,_ not after that._

* * *

"Arno!" shouted Carlos as he stampeded into the firing range.

"Hey kid," answered the gruff businessman. His teeth, no longer fake points- now the regular mouth of teeth.

Carlos had wanted to tell Arno, his mentor, of his going to Fowl Manor, but he just hadn't had the time.

"Guess where I've been," asked the boy as he loaded an M9.

"Paris?" inquired Arno.

"Guess again," the boy said in his glee as he fired off a clip.

"Milan?"

"Nope . . ."

"Oh just tell me, damnit," cried his mentor as her loaded a Heckler & Koch special edition P9. Only 485 of the precious semi-automatic pistols had been produced from 1969 to 1978, which made the gun a collectable.

Arno didn't care, if guns weren't made to be shot, God wouldn't have made them that way.

"Fowl Manor . . ."

Silence- dead silence.

"Fow . . . Fowl Manor!" roared Arno. "They're making you a spy already? Your not ready!"

Carlos nodded his head.

"No, no, no- you don't understand. I was invited as an anonymous guest to play the piano!"

"The piano! Carlos, please understand this and do not take it in the wrong contest- your insane. You went into Fowl Manor, unguarded-"

"Uh Uh Uh- The Valkyrie was my back-up . . ."

"You brought that stupid, self suppressing . . ." Arno ranged his curses to offenses, to non offensive and judgmental, and back to the best he had. He_ obviously_ didn't like the Valkyrie.

Finally they were silent. Carlos emptied another three clips in rapid succession as he aimed his best.

"Higher." grudgingly said Arno. "Higher to the left; you're letting it drop to the left right before you've fired- not good. Attach the suppresser- you'll learn how to shoot with it faster when your skill in it is actually needed."

"Thanks," replied the teenager.

"Just don't go to him again- Fowl has magic and witchcraft kid," Arno started to tear slightly. "I sho . . . I shot Butler in the chest . . . more then once. He's alive, Butler is alive. I've seen him with my own eyes- he's alive. It's sorcery, black magic. Whatever you want to call it – don't go near him. He'll place a curse on you that Fowl."

And with that, Mentor and understudy, shot off another few clips before their meal arrived- despite the threat.

* * *

Carlos checked his watch. Time for the meeting.

Jon Spiro had been pulling together his allies, his favors, his mercenaries. He wanted every advantage when he encountered Fowl next, and wasn't going to risk Fowl walking away alive for the third time. He'd die. Expenses were of no concern.

Carlos walked into Jon's office; his head held high and level. His eyes met Jon's chunks of color- no emotion. Jon had been depressed, from the looks of it.

"You asked for me?" questioned the young Mafia-Boss-to-be.

"How's my old pal Fowl; is he of good health. Why was he gone for nearly three years?"

"Over three years," Carlos instantly corrected, "And his health is of good stature. I also have a card that may help you . . ."

"What could that be?" asked Spiro, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

"His faith. I've gained it. Artemis Fowl trusts me."

"How." Was the cold word which slid from Jon's mouth.

"Details details," scolded Carlos, "What is their worth?"

"Quite allot in some instance- such _as_ now," answered Spiro, his face scrunching up like a lemon. Could he let this child treat him so?

"Well forget them- all you need to know is you have another pawn on the chessboard. Rather a Bishop; I quite like Bishops.

"Very well," answered Jon coldly. "And one more thing, Carlos?"

Carlos turned around, emotion depict from his face.

"What?" he finally said.

"Where'd you get that ring? May I see it?"

Carlos let no reaction become of the statement, but simply handed over the ring.

"I got it from Artemis- a souvenir or prize, as he called it."

"I'm going to hold onto this for awhile- at least until we're sure it's not bugged or anything. Is that okay with you, _kid?" _challenged Jon, for some odd reason.

"Certainly not." Like many men, Jon was soon to find out not to call Carlos a _kid_. Only Arno could call him that.

* * *

So, nothing really important happened here, but I wanted to show once more his likeness to Artemis Fowl- I also wanted to add faults. He's scarred of heights, he has a teddy bear with a lunchbox inside it- faults. Character development. I also wanted to show his business side; which was in _the meeting._ For your information, there are only a few more chapters left- I've still another three or four chapters; I think. I'm thinking up some plotlines for another Series, so when this one is finished, hopfully there will be another to replace it.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	12. And Back to Val

**Chapter 12**

**_~ And Back to Val ~_**

**

* * *

**~ Sorry, I wasn't able to write last week. Happy St. Patrick's Day! (only a few days late) ~

**

* * *

**

Artemis Fowl II waited silently in his blacked-out limousine. He tapped out a beat on the side panel, then impatiently rolled down the separator.

"Any sign of them?" asked the teenager.

"No sign," responded Butler, his- well Butler.

Artemis shuffled. Carlos had called him the night before. Jon was suspicious. Artemis wasn't worried. He'd thought the man would be overly paranoid, almost all the genii were.

And so, here Artemis sat, waiting for the signal. His plan was a simple one, and yet it depended on the complexest of calculations. Everything had to happen in the precise amount of time in the same precise fashion.

* * *

The Valkyrie sat in her lair. That's what she called it. Every Bodyguard needed something cool about them- Val had two; a name and a codename for a house.

She swiveled around in her chair, the plush white cushion making the slightest of noises as she did so. A small screeching sound emanated from the thing- she needed a new one or an oil can; either way, she was too lazy to get them.

She sipped contentedly from her wine glass containing Vino. She was pleased with her remodeling abilities. Her friends said she couldn't, but she could.

She had finished the hour before- the last sofa was in place, the last lamp was set, the last painting nailed into the wall- even the Iron Maiden was in its corner. Her authentic Katana from her years training with her Sensei was in a display case, the glass showing no faults such as scratches and dust.

She sighed contentedly once more, took a deep breath – and her phone rang.

Slowly, she released the breath – meditatively – then reached over and flipped the screen up. Private number, yeah right!

Butler.

Val giggled to herself contentedly. She briskly ran fingers through her hair, ruffling the edges. Gaining a new expression – she always had an expression on her face when she talked on phones – she pressed the green call button.

"Yes!" she snapped, in character as usual.

"Valkyrie, I presume?" responded the deep voice from the other end.

"Who wants to know?"

"Artemis Fowl II, Lady."

"Ahhh, so I'm speaking to Butler – his pristine Manservant," Val had to sit on her arm to stop it from fist pumping. Her expression changed from the strict person she was interpreting, to the slightly intrigued associate. "And what does the young prodigy ask of me?" _Talking about Boss's, that could eventually end up somewhere around dating, right,_ Val quickly thought before Butler responded.

"He requests a conciliation- just a quick five minute meeting over brunch." _Brunch, that can definitely be turned into a date._

"Great," she said, a cheeky smile spreading her face, "whens the da- locations, time, et cetera?"

"Chicago, in about half an hour – the Starbucks across your apartment complex," Butlers voice rung it's content, and then – silence.

Val quickly screamed, getting it out of her system; to her outfit!

* * *

Artemis, in his usual Armani suit and tie combo – though he'd never call anything a combo – was sipping at his Dolce Espresso con Panna, a caramel and cream infused shot of espresso, when she entered. Butler sat to his left, drinking casually the Pike Place Roast in front of his; it was as black and bitter as possible.

Dressed in a black frock, with a black silver threaded bolero, high heeled black boots - size five – and a chain linked necklace, she gazed around the room. Black eyeliner – well lined her eyes, and a perfect pale red lipstick laced her lips. Her hair was clasped to the back of her head in a bun, and a showpurse was held in one hand.

Not trying too hard at all, was she?

They didn't need to motion to her; she was already on her way.

"So, Mr. Fowl, how may I help you?" she said as she sat down, accent heavy, without ordering a drink.

Mr. Fowl almost sighed, but at the last minute held it together.

"I have a little vendetta, very minor, with someone. I'll be strait forward with you, Lady Val; it's Jon Spiro, and anyone working under his name . . ."

She hadn't made the connection yet, as I doubt you have as well.

"I . . . decline," She said, faltering. This was her chance to Butler. Though not even that should fog her mind when faced with her business. She couldn't betray her boss, as she thought Artemis would've asked her if given another minute. And it wouldn't have benefited her to be a double agent, working for Artemis and then reporting it all to Jon- that was just asking for trouble.

After a moment of silence, Artemis regretfully said, as if it actually hurt him.

"I see . . . Well, _nice_ doing business with you."

With that, the teenager finished his drink calmly, watching Val with intent eyes. He took his last sip, the last drop of espresso, and exited the venue- Butler in toe.

Val reluctantly, awkwardly, turned to go outside when she caught sight of something – what, she didn't know, but her instincts told her something was there.

She left the Starbucks, for perhaps the eleventh time that month, and walked right into it . . .

* * *

"Are you sure it was a good idea?" Holly asked Artemis, from an altitude higher then most 747's. "We've already relocated Loafers here, don't you think this could light the spark that relights the embers of his memory."

"Quite imaginative, Holly; have you been working on your linguistics?"

"O' bug off, Mudman. I'm serious here. You've gotten the People involved in you little vendetta, for what . . . maybe the eighth time?" she accused.

"Honestly Holly, we've exhausted all other locations, Butler and I- this is the best place for her. She's the fairest person they've ever seen, she'll probably be treated like a Goddess." And then, under his breath, he said, "As long as they don't eat her . . ."

"Artemis!"

"What?"

"You know I can hear everything you say! I'm taking her out of here before they . . . find her . . ."

At that moment, precisely as planned, Loafers headed a group of hunters. Each wielded a spear, a loincloth, a headdress, and a mobile phone.

They each surrounded her, the tall lady dressed in a simple white dress. Three men attacked, and three men were beaten head to toe.

They had chosen to attack her instead of greet here, like with Loafers – who again, led the hunting party – stopping in his tracks, the young addition to their hierarchy, remembered his own past. This precise piece of land.

"She'll be fine, Holly, now just come back to the Fowl Manor . . ."

Reluctantly, one of the last emotions felt by Val when she still had her memory, Holly swiveled around in her hummingbird 2100, and back to base for here indeed.

* * *

"First Loafers, and now Val? Jon, do you have no care for my people? My best people!" Carla screamed at Jon, who was shrugging into a corner – remembering what Carla used to be like, what she might soon become once more – when Carlos stepped in.

"You called me?" the young heir inquired.

"Carlos!" Jon charmed – anything to distract Carla from their current predicament – and led the boy over to his desk.

"Take a seat . . ."

Carlos sat.

"Can you just tell me what it is? I've a shotgun shooting range to go to," he whined.

"Yes, yes – Well, we're ready for our sabotage of Fowl Manor. Vlad Vulkov and his men are at top speed for Ireland, in their boats . . ." he listed off another half a dozen military commanders, Kim Kommando, a Chinese dramatic triad Lieutenant. Nasim Faraj, the terrorist, and Sgt. Balod, a retired sour man from the United States Military. "And all you have to do is lure Fowl out of that pretty Manor, out from behind those walls."

"With all that firepower, you could nock down those walls," suggested Carlos.

"Now that," Jon said, pointing a thin finger at Carlos, "is a good idea. But . . . I don't know – there are too many complications. It would be much simpler to just shoot him as he exits."

"But Spiro, you have a mixture of men which account to seventy-five – plus commanders such as Vlad – why have them when you'll just need one sniper bullet of 50. calibers."

Carlos saw the light from the mans eyes relinquish- he obviously hadn't thought farther then _get firepower_ in his plan.

"I tell you what, Spiro; I'll throw together a plan, a plan filled with pain and regret . . ." The elder man's face was a mirror to his soul; it shone with glee.

"'Nuff said, I'll get together my drawing pad and clipboard," the boy left, remember one last line Artemis had told him to say, "I'll have Arno help with the particularly gruesome parts . . ." he said under his breath.

Jon smiled, Carla's anger forgotten – it would all turn out just fine.

* * *

Sorry I wasn't able to write last week - if it helps I was too busy. I had a camping trip with my Troop last Sunday, and unfortunately didn't write it all in time. So, here it is.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, hope you feasted on enough cabbage and corned beef!

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	13. Hades Servant

**Chapter 13**

**_~ Hades Servant ~_**

* * *

~ Here it is, one oif the last chapters. ~

* * *

Carlos rubbed his bleary eyes. His eyes were red, and temporary crowsfeet appeared by his eyes.

He slid the pencil back from his ere, remembering one more detail to add to the final plan.

The Blackboard was a pace or two in front of him. His CD player blared in the background of his consciousness. He flipped through his plans, pausing momentarily as he raced through the sheets of paper in front of him.

There it was, the only misspelling- with a swipe of the butt of a pencil, it was erased and re-written. Penmanship– legible to say the least; not even a misused coma.

Pleased, he sent the plans ahead of him as he took his time, his destination: Spiro's penthouse.

On the way, he grabbed a few supplies - nothing major, just his guns, 2 day pack, and rations – and exited his house.

Though he could've been driven, Carlos preferred a good bike ride now and then, so, he unstrung the chains and unlocked the padlock; before he knew it, the wind was in his face.

Dressed casually, he turned a corner- a Bentley waited in the parking lot. Not skipping a beat, he directed his bike to the front window.

It slowly, menacingly, rolled down. Each inch sent another fit of jitters through his system. Not much longer now . . .

. . . Juliet, - non-to kindly mind you – slammed the door shut behind her.

She had driven a good eighty miles to get Artemis his precious plans. Within seconds of being received, she was simply shooed out of the room for the, and quote, _"Adults to finish working." _

Seriously, she wasn't a two-year-old; she knew how to work like an Adult.

I mean, she got herself out of that terrible luchador group, and they had Lawyers like none other – except perhaps Artemis. Of course she liked the group when she joined, and it suited her well, she just tired of it too quickly.

_Exhale, Juliet- you don't care what they think,_ she silently told herself, letting out a long-held breath.

Not long now, according to Artemis. Is he ever wrong? Just once . . .

* * *

Spiro was all grin and smiles as Carlos entered his office. The teenager sat himself down, curiously deciphering Spiro's face. One of his best attributes was being able to read body language.

Carlos contentedly waited for Spiro to say the first words . . .

"Marvelous, Mr. Frezetti- simply marvelous. Just as the plan – simple, invasive, painful, and the best one; desecrating. Fowl will by knocked on his ass after this."

Carlos took the complement to heart. His left eye momentarily twitched. Sweat glands near his forehead began to activate.

"Theres one thing that I'd like to say, about the whole thing . . ."

"Go on."

"Well, ever since my childhood," Carlos stood up, and began to slowly pace around the room, "I've been seen as a child – this I may be, but I wish to correct it. In a days time, that plan in your hands, on your desk - committed to your memory- will go into action. I intend to head it. I intend to not let anyone interfere and give me the glory for its completion."

Spiro pondered that statement – he wanted the glory for killing Fowl – but the plans that were given him were very good . . . No! he couldn't give command of this operation to Carlos.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Frezetti, that you cannot command this. Yes, Yes; your good at your job, it's just that this plan is too important – nothing can go wrong. For each man that gets killed out there, I gotta pay $10,000 to their bosses. Now you understand, Carlos, why you can't? Certainly, now you understand."

"I thought you wanted to kill Fowl at all cost? I can assure he will be killed, but can you?" now it was time to question Spiro. "You've failed twice before, what now? Are you going for a third . . ."

And that was it, Carlos had struck a nerve. A Vein in Jon's face popped, and Carlos considered calling for help – no need. As another vein popped, Vlad Vulkov stepped in.

The Secretary following him was no longer Jen, but a younger lady named Kiara.

Vlad could see instantly what was wrong, "Jon!" he snapped, walking across the room, his trench coat whirling around him. Underneath, he wore a sleeve-less shirt and cargo pants.

The tension dissipated, and Vlad was able to take a step back.

Carlos left, then, for his own reasons. Unfortunately. The result was final. He would not be able to do as Artemis wanted.

* * *

Carlos scowled at the computer screen in front of him.

"I can't do anything about it, Fowl. There's no way he's going to let me help now, especially not lead the whole thing," he expressed, waving his arms high in the air for emphasis.

Artemis dully looked back at the boy, a year or so younger then himself. This just had to happen. Right now, before his operation started.

"Well Carlos, I don't know what to tell you – your job was simple. Feed Spiro the plan, and then execute said plan, by ones—self. I don't see how this is difficult? Did I not specify during our chat on the phring . . ." That's what he called his little invention – phring – impressive? Hardly.

"Well you just don't know Spiro . . ."

"I," if Artemis possessed glasses, he would've slowly taken them away from his face, "don't know about Spiro? I'm sorry, who's his nemesis? The man he's been trying to kill for four years, two unsuccessful missions. I think not." Artemis swiveled around in his chair, grabbed something Carlos couldn't see, than swiveled back into view. It was a gun. He'd never held one before, but he decided it gave him an intimidated manner.

Said gun, was a P226 SIG Sauer, 15 rounds of 9mm Parabellum could be shout per clip, and Butler had its recoil modified for Arty's convenience.

"This, my friend, Carlos, is my new weapon. I don't want to fire one bullet from its chamber. If said bullet is fired, it will lose its value of intimidation, to a servant of Hades himself. I don't want this for two reasons – I hate Greek mythology, and I hate recoil.

"So I ask you this, am I going to have to convert this weapon to a Servant of Hades?"

Carlos was a bit confused, with the whole metifphore, but he though he got most of it. Artemis didn't want his hands dirty; he wanted everything finished before it even started.

"I do, Artemis. But do _you_ realize the impact I'd have to make in order do as you ask? Especially now, when there aren't any missions I can exactly grab to prove myself."

"I don't necessarily care," Artemis said coldly, "I just want your help. You know what, I want your allegiance." Artemis prepared his voice for a _mesmer._ "Carlos, swear to me you will do anything in your power to complete this . . ."

"I will do anything in my . . ." and it happened, another score for team Artemis, and another trump for Team Spiro.

* * *

Carlos entered the vault, the altitude being about 42,000. The turbulence rocked the plane, but no-one would notice. The occupants were dead, and the only thing keeping the plane on track was Carlos only companion on the journey, Ellie, a British Air force recruit who owed him a few favors.

Carlos cut through the mettle, not caring how much noise it took. Who was going to hear it, and if they did, what would they do? Report a disturbance to the Police? I doubt it.

At last, a treasure favorable of Spiro. The next best thing to a C-cube, the TIBS's Galactic Explorer. It was a sophisticated device which was a highly sophisticated radar system, video player, and hacking device. TIBS was an old competitor of Spiro, and this was something they were about to showcase in London. Thanks to Carlos, it wasn't getting within thirty-five of British airways.

Quickly, Carlos transferred the square device to a padded bag which hung at his side. Then, he adjusted his parachute, and exited the vault.

It was at the back of the private jet, registered to TIBS Inc..

Carlos stepped over a dead body, and to the cockpit. There, Ellie waited for him.

"Ready?" he questioned her, as she silently nodded. She hated what she had just witnessed, and didn't understand why she had come in the first place.

Together, the pair jumped out of the plane, at just under 42,000 feet, parachutes strapped to their backs, and adrenalin lighting their eyes.

* * *

Vell, you like?

I'm planning on going into another fandom, and theres a Poll on my profile. Not very hard, just swing by to choose which one you want me in.

Recently, I've enrolled in a theatre production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, anyone with good tips are invited to send them over.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	14. Deception 101

**Chapter 14**

**_~ Deception 101 ~_**

* * *

~ Thank you all for your reviews, they've kept me writing this little Artemis Adventure. ~

* * *

Carla thought this was weird. Yesterday, he had been happy with the plan her son had drawn for him, and now, he totally detested the thing. Using some very explicit words, he had ordered everyone to travel to Wales, where he expected to find Artemis in a hotel somewhere.

Everything was so vague and strange that even Carla herself worried about the whole thing.

He had left everyone the same, boring message. _Meet me at Wales, Fowl there. Don't call; phone may alarm the people I'm spying on._

How she wished to call, to ask what the hell was wrong with him; but she couldn't, not if she wanted him dead.

And Carlos? He didn't skip a beat. Just entered the jet, turned on his new laptop, and started to get lost on the Internet. You would thing he would be somewhat troubled, right?

_Or am I just thinking to far into this?_she asked herself, flipping through a vacation magazine. _He's done unexpected things before._

Either way, she knew she was in for a bumpy ride, and it wasn't just the turbulence.

* * *

Jon awoke to a strange sensation. Defeat. As he turned over, a note was immediately in his vision. A note, your simple Post-It – lime green – written neatly, legibly. He swore he recognized the handwriting.

Sitting up, he picked up the note, looking over it with tired eyes. Then again. And again…

_Associates: out of business.  
Plan: deleted/destroyed.  
Organization: corrupt.  
Bedroom: spycam'd.  
Your life: worthless… _

_**-A**_

After each objective, there was a check.

Jon knew who "A" was; he wasn't stupid. He was scared. He knew Fowl never gave false accusations, and _this_ was a huge accusation.

Grabbing his mobile phone, Spiro dialed several numbers. Each gave him a dial tone and disconnected. His phone was of no use.

He swept the room, looking for the spycams. No such luck. _There's one thing that's false._ He sighed, then tested his apartments phones. Each worked just like his mobile.

He could walk to Carla's – she would know what was wrong.

And that's what he'd do.

After having a quick shower, throwing on some clothes, Jon found himself wishing he had his own car. He could have gotten to his destination much faster. And the taxis – they just rammed past him;_ invisible _was the word which sprung to his mind.

After repeatedly rapping away at the door, as well as ringing the doorbell, Jon accepted the fact that she was not home.

* * *

He sighed again, and at that moment his phone rang. Out of habit, he had kept it in his pocket.

"Where are you?" asked Carla.

"Where are _you_?" responded the madman.

"In a warehouse, why?"

"Where is everybody, what happened? Why are you guys–"

Carla interrupted to stop his bantering.

"After yesterday night's party, you sent everyone here to this warehouse, telling us to wait till ten o'clock. Then you were all like 'I'll come in with the cavalry and destroy everything'!"

"A party?"

"Yep, your average party."

Uhh-oh.

"How stoned was I?"

"You were granite…"

That explained his headache, which he had just noticed, and the disappearance of his associates. But his phones…

"What's the address? I'll have to stop by."

"You really don't remember last night, do you?" she asked, tentatively.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing. The address is 20577 U.S. 45, Riverwoods, Illinois, warehouse Seven. Get here quick, the men are getting restless, and I can't say much more for Nasim Faraj; she's been very, well…. restless." With that, the call ended.

With a two-hour drive ahead of him, Jon knew he would have some time to sort out what had happened. Surely he would remember the day before after awhile…

* * *

_It is a good plan,_ IM'd Artemis.

_It isn't,_ replied Carlos, peering over his shoulder quickly, then back at the screen.

_It is not as fun as the previous one, but it shall do._

Carlos could have squealed, but didn't out of fear of being asked what he was doing. He was using the TIB's Galactic Explorer to destroy Jon's plans – it was more revenge then anything. He wouldn't be able to execute his plan, so it wouldn't be used. Simple as that.

It was able to reproduce sound waves, and from talking with his mother and uncle, and taking their voice samples, Carlos was able to make them say anything he wished.

_Jon is on route, should be coming sun_

_Soon?_

_stupid auto-word thingy_

Get better grammar, and we may talk again

_kk_

Artemis sighed. Not wanting to think of what lay ahead – the death of Jon Grace Spiro – he went about cleaning the SIG Sauer P226, something he found calming. No wonder Butler cleaned his guns every day. It relaxed him.

* * *

Jon drove his stolen car across the final stretch of pavement that separated him between his men and himself.

The buildings weren't very special, simple white sheet-metal buildings, windowless, with two ways of entry. Two ways of entry. That should have been his first tip-off.

Cameras were placed around the area, which normally swiveled on their bases. Normally. Artemis had disabled them.

As Jon passed over gravel, Juliet signaled Artemis. He was here – time to start the demonstration.

As Jon exited his car, the warehouse blew up; the air was filled with smoke, and the sound alone shook Jon off his feet. Loosing his glasses as he fell, his eyes were temporarily blinded. His skin was seared, even under his clothes.

Chunks of debris flew through the air, raining down upon Spiro. The usual explosion. This was Spiro's second tip-off.

And his third . . .

The sound of tires. One car pulled up, and out stepped three humans.

Artemis, Butler, and Minerva. Of course. Juliet came running from about a hundred meters away.

They all stared down at the pitiful specimen of man. Artemis crossed the distance between them before the rest, cradling his weapon. Jon looked up, scratches across his face from the gravel.

"How is it going today, Spiro? Any luck finding your men?"

Jon took a moment to turn over, but once he had, his scowl was as obvious as ever. Without thinking, Jon spat into Artemis's face, leaving him to wipe away the mess. Even though it momentarily blinded him, he was not fazed.

Artemis reacted quickly, too quickly for any Fowl, bringing down his foot down – hard – onto Spiro's own face.

Before anyone could do anything, the man reached into his pocket – withdrawing his backup, the backup he knew he would need: a putty like substance, looking similar to authentic Mexican Quesada cheese. A mettle needle was stuck firmly in, with wire connecting to… to… to…

_Boom!_

* * *

The next morning, on the front page of the Gaelscéal, an Irish national Newspaper, was a massacre scene.

Earth had exploded, on one central spot, and at the far edge of the photo, was scorched grass. Blackened. A melted lump of metal, roughly resembling a car, was located near the gaping hole. Another, only larger, was almost exactly opposite the other mass of metal.

There were warehouses, too; though the explosion wasn't enough to melt the metal, the force of it had cracked the bolts holding the sheet metal in place, leaving sheets of metal at random intervals.

A Reporter, in casual clothing, microphone grasped tightly, was present in the photo as well. Collin Dell, to be exact.

Underneath scrolled a message, for the entire world to read:

_In a__catastrophic terrorist bombing, Artemis Fowl II, Legendary Intellectual and heir to the Fowl's Family fortune, has deceased. Three years ago, Young Fowl scared us by leaving __civilization and becoming a hermit while going through a period of childhood trauma._

_A few years later, two weeks ago, he resurfaced. We now think young Artemis left because of terrorist threats, and not childhood tragedies._

_Four bodies were also found, two of which have already been identified; their identities are being withheld till their families consent._

_Investigator__ Nathan Walsh has been assigned to look into the assassination. Anyone with information is urged to call (353) 929.6666, our Toll free hotline._

* * *

If you didn't notice, this is my version of the end of Artemis Fowl. He's dead, which is the only way for Opal to stop messing with him, and for him to stop spreading disease. I didn't think _The Atlantis Complex_ had anything needed. I mean really, like he hasn't already pulled the sick card - so yeah, this is what it was about. From the very beginning, I knew I had to kill him; otherwise, we would be back at sqare A with the same plots all over again. Oh, and if you didn't identify it, the putty was C4.

And for the inevitable touchy feely part . . .

I don't want to get too emotional, but after a journey like this, I must take a turn for the better. Firstly, I'd like to thank the person on FanFiction who has been with me through the series; RAHbooks. Thank you so much for the support, input, and criticism a young writer needs. I'm having a bit of trouble finding words at the moment, to express my gratitude . . . I could list words eight-plus containing my gratitude, but instead, I will leave the imagination to its work.

Secondly, I'd like to thank my new Beta, Mochabelle33; you only critiqued this chapter, but I still see the benefit in including you in this here notion. You can thank her for making this chapter look sensible :D (The emoticon is for you, your style)

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


End file.
